


A Lucky Adventure

by Loeka



Series: A Difference In Perspective [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Slow Burn, Thorin is just too sexy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but it's not like she can change that, everything would be easier if he wasn't, is to enjoy the eye candy, more than she already has, on fem!Bilbo's part, so she supposes that the best thing to do, to the point where it is genuinely distracting, while hoping that she doesn't embarrass herself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:10:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loeka/pseuds/Loeka
Summary: Miss Bluebell Baggins is not a respectable Hobbit.(no knowledge of part 1 needed)





	1. Chapter 1

Miss Bluebell Baggins is not a respectable Hobbit.

This has never come as a true surprise to anyone. After all, they’ll say, she’s the daughter of Belladonna Baggins, once known as Belladonna Took, the wildest of Old Took’s twelve children. And while some believed, and a few even hoped, that Bluebell Baggins would take after her father, Bungo Baggins, a most respectable Hobbit indeed, it soon becomes apparent that this will not turn out to be the case.

Because little Bluebell Baggins climbs the highest trees and steals the most mushrooms of all. She wanders the forest in search of Elves, brandishes wooden swords against imaginary foes, and once, she even manages to stow away on one of the Brandybucks boats! She’s soon found of course, and she never does so again, but the fact remains that little Bluebell Baggins, with not a drop of Brandybuck blood for two generations on her mother’s side, and a whole five on her father’s side, voluntarily went boating!

And yet, it isn’t that unusual for little Hobbits to have a small adventurous streak. It’s even less unusual for little Tooks to have a large one, even when those Tooks hold the name of Baggins as well. So it is generally assumed that little Bluebell Baggins will settle down as she grows older, just as every other Hobbit does. Even Tooks settle down, though never quite to the level of respectability others achieve. Why, even wild Belladonna Took has settled down, if only a little.

Bluebell Baggins does not, in fact, settle down.

By the time young Bluebell Baggins is well into her tweens, her reputation as an odd Hobbit has become firmly established. Not quite as wild as her mother, for while Bluebell Baggins is without a doubt the daughter of Belladonna Baggins, she is also the daughter of Bungo Baggins. And Bungo Baggins is a Hobbit who likes to plan things out, respectable things mind you, well in advance before they happen. In this, Bluebell Baggins takes after her father.

It’s just that many of the things she prepares for cannot be considered respectable by any means.

No one is surprised by wild Belladonna’s delight over her daughter’s oddities. Some, however, are most surprised at respectable Bungo’s reaction, who, in the opposition of respectability, is just as delighted by them. He worries about them as well of course, but in his own way, Bungo Baggins encourages his daughter’s oddities just as much as his wife does.

But then, those who are surprised by this, were also surprised when a young but already respectable Bungo Baggins started to court an equally young and already so wild Belladonna Took.

Those who are surprised cannot be called the brightest of Hobbits.

For years, there is talk that wild Belladonna Baggins, after her daughter reaches her maturity, will take her on an _adventure_. And respectable Bungo Baggins? He’ll be waiting to welcome them back home, as he always did for his wife before they had their daughter.

As for Bluebell herself, she’s known with absolute certainty that she’ll go on an adventure ever since she was but a small faunt and she asked her mother if she would please take her on an adventure, one just like the ones she told little Bluebell when tucking her into bed. Her mother, with the condition that they wait until Bluebell is fully grown, had readily agreed.

In preparation of this upcoming adventure, Belladonna teaches her daughter all the things she herself found most helpful on her own adventures. Such as not wearing skirts when on the road, and to bind both chest and curls to keep them out of the way. She teaches her to make fire with as little means possible, to navigate by sun and stars, to get stains out of clothing as best as can be done without washing powers, how to hunt small animals for food, and so much more.

She also warns her daughter that the road is a dangerous place indeed, fraught with peril. There are, of course, the large animals that can easily overwhelm two Hobbits out on their own, no matter their best preparations, but those are not the greatest threat.

The greatest threat on the road are Men. More specifically, Men who are bandits.

So Belladonna teaches her daughter how to hit folks of any kind, in ways that cause the most pain possible while also causing the least amount of damage. After all, when folks of any kind are in pain, it’s much easier to run away without them coming after you. However, this is to be a last resort only. First, one must always try to reason with them, whoever “them” may be. Second, one must try to sneak away without violence.

Only when this fails should one resort to violence themselves, causing as much pain possible, as fast as possible. Then one has to run away and hide, also as fast as possible.

Additionally, Bungo teaches his daughter many useful things to know on an adventure as well. He teaches her how to read maps through the use of the many he collected over the decades, and how to perform first aid. After exhausting his own limited knowledge on this last subject, and the much less limited knowledge of his wife as well, Bungo arranges, just as he did for his wife so long ago, for his daughter to be taught by no less than three different healers, so she would be best prepared on what to do in case something does wrong.

Most important of all, he gathers every possible book there is about which greenery can be found in different regions, which are edible and which are not, and teaches his daughter how to test unknown plants so as to figure out if they can be safely consumed or not, to ensure she’ll never go hungry on an adventure. As has happened to his wife before, though, he’ll hasten to add, it hasn't happened often and never for long.

Belladonna merely waves his concerns away and points out that it’s perfectly normal to not have a respectable amount of food on an adventure. An adventure is very different from a walking holiday, after all.

Bluebell takes these lessons to heart and waits for her thirty-third birthday with bated breath. She carefully plans out the adventure she and her mother will have, how they’ll follow the Brandywine River all the way to Lake Evendim, where they will walk around the entire body of water, before following the Brandywine all the way back to the Shire, where her father will be waiting to welcome them home. Even so young, Bluebell just knows this adventure will be the most wonderful thing she will ever experience.

The Fell Winter comes.

At the age of thirty-one, Bluebell learns she won’t be going on an adventure with her mother after all. At the age of thirty-one, she learns her father won’t be waiting to welcome them home.

Perhaps some wonder if this tragedy will change the wild ways of young Bluebell Baggins, but if they do, none speak of it. Even had they been so unspeakably rude as to want to, none can. There are too many other things to do, no time for gossip, survival taking priority above all else. Survival, support, and grief.

All lose loved ones during those dark days.

But after the Fell Winter _finally_ ends and makes way for Blessed Spring, after the first harvests, after they start to move on from their grief, after they start healing... Bluebell Baggins disappears.

There is no announcement, no notice, not a whisper of warning. One day, young Bluebell Baggins is hosting a lovely luncheon for some relatives and friends, and the next, she’s gone.

Bounders search the entire Shire from top to bottom, no piece of Farthing is left unturned. They search every crevice of Bree, even send word to the Rangers for help, yet it’s all in vain. Bluebell Baggins is gone.

No one has the heart to complain when Old Took refuses to sell off Bag End. Not after he lost his granddaughter so soon after his daughter. Though most are quite pleased, respectably so mind you, that he offers the opportunity for any to book Bag End if they so wish, so that all can enjoy enchanting elevenses, lovely luncheons, admirable afternoon teas, and darling dinners in that fine smial.

More than a year and a half passes when suddenly, without warning, Bluebell Baggins returns home. To the delight and great curiosity of all.

As it turns out, Bluebell Baggins has gone on an _adventure_. And not just any adventure mind you, young Bluebell Baggins travelled all the way to Rivendell!

Just as her mother once did.

Tongues wag and gossip flies, warm and fond. Truly, they say, truly, Bluebell Baggins is the daughter of Belladonna Baggins, once known as Belladonna Took, the wildest of Old Took's twelve children. The years after only prove this further, for while she never again disappears without warning and never again travels quite so far, Bluebell Baggins goes on numerous other adventures, always returning home with the wildest of tales.

No, Miss Bluebell Baggins is not a respectable Hobbit at all. So it comes as no surprise to anyone when she goes on another adventure. It comes as even less of a surprise that she does so with the Wandering Wizard.

All, however, are most surprised at the scandalous rush with which she leaves.

* * *

 

Bluebell Baggins is enjoying a beautiful morning by smoking some homegrown pipeweed while seated on the bench in her front garden. She’s not thinking about anything in particular, merely lets her mind wander wherever it pleases.

As it turns out, her mind wishes to wonder what she should have for second breakfast, soon coming up. An excellent direction for her mind to wander indeed.

Should she make some biscuits to go along her scones? Yes, that sounds quite nice indeed. She has some delicious blueberries just begging to be used, and biscuits will do perfectly.

Suddenly something curious taps against her nose, almost like a burst of smoke but not quite, making Bluebell open her eyes. And, startled, she tilts back her head to stare with confusion at the wholly unexpected sight that meets her.

There is a Man standing in front of her picket fence. He is very old, very wizened, and _very_ tall. He possess a long gray beard and wears equally gray garments topped by a pointy hat, all of which have seen far better days. The Man stands slightly bend, leaning on a wooden staff with the ease of long familiarity. He’s also looking down at her with an intense expression, clearly visible even with the beard obscuring much of his features.

How odd. How very odd, in fact.

“...Good morning,” Bluebell greets after it becomes clear that the Man will not.

“What do you mean?” he asks in return. Bluebell is unsure of what he means by that. Fortunately, the Man clarifies his question. In detail, too. “Do you wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?”

Bluebell feels a smile grow at the curious reply. What a delightful surprise this Man is turning out to be.

In the interest of being polite, Bluebell thinks over her answer with care. Fine questions such as those deserve to be answered with due consideration after all.

“Why, all of them at once,” she settles on with a decisive nod, for she truly feels that she meant all those things at the same time.

The Man smiles, seemingly pleased with her answer. It’s strange, the longer she looks at him, the less he resembles a Man. Which makes no sense at all, for he looks like a Man and nothing else. Yet somehow, in ways she can't quite put into words, he also... doesn’t.

He looks oddly familiar as well.

Bluebell tries to remember if she’s met him before, yet she cannot recall anyone such as he. And this not quite Man is most memorable indeed.

“Might I ask your name, good sir? I feel like we’ve met before, but for the life of me I cannot recall where,” she confesses.

The not quite Man’s smile fades, and he huffs as he gives her an obviously insulted look. Oh dear, it seems she truly has met him before. Bluebell racks her mind to recall where, but she still doesn’t manage to succeed. Which makes the entire situation even more odd, for she cannot imagine ever forgetting this not quite Man. If not for his curious appearance, than certainly she should remember his voice, which is most pleasing to the ear.

“Have you forgotten me already, Bluebell Baggins?” the not quite Man demands in an offended tone. Well, that erases all doubt that she has, indeed, met him before. But where?

Seeing as she still can’t remember, Bluebell gives him an apologetic look. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but it seems I have, indeed, forgotten. Would you mind terribly in helping me remember?”

Her question makes the not quite Man straighten to his full and quite frankly enormous height, giving her a grave look as he does.

“I, oh daughter of Belladonna Took, am Gandalf.”

Bluebell’s jaw drops, frozen with shock, just for a moment.

She jumps off the bench, fumbling with her pipe as she almost drops it in her overwhelming excitement because this is _Gandalf!_

“Gandalf, the Wandering Wizard!” she exclaims, unable to understand how she didn’t recognize him before now. Not merely from her childhood memories, but the pointy hat, the wooden staff, the all gray clothing!

How did she not realize who he is the instant she saw him?

“Good gracious, it’s been years! How are you, are you well? Oh, it’s wonderful to have you here, it truly is. Are you here for Fido’s birthday party? All would love for you to light off your whizpoppers, they have been dearly missed. So have you, of course! By me, at least, I suppose I cannot speak for others, though I do know that many Tooks have missed you as well, including Aunt Mirabella, have you visited her yet– Oh dear, listen to me talk when I’ve yet to even invite you inside. Please, do come in, you’re just in time for second breakfast, and I have some lovely scones, freshly baked. Or I can whip up something else, if you wish.”

Bluebell cuts herself off there, for she knows that in her current excitement, she’ll never stop talking otherwise.

Gandalf, the Wandering Wizard, the magical figure from her childhood, one of her mother’s dearest friends, laughs with joy. The brightness of it makes Bluebell’s smile grow even larger.

“My dear, I am delighted to find you’ve not changed in the slightest,” he tells her warmly. Bluebell chuckles, still so wonderfully overwhelmed by the fact that _Gandalf_ is back in the Shire after all this time.

“I should hope I’ve changed quite a bit. The last time I saw you, I was barely even a tween,” she teases, opening the gate and inviting him in. “Please, do come in.”

Gandalf, though he wears a gentle smile, declines with a shake of his head, causing crushing disappointment to descent. He won’t even stay for one meal? Oh please no, she so dearly wishes to talk to him.

Does he find her invitation too forward? It is second breakfast after all, though truly, given his long absence, she feels an exception can be more than made.

“Unfortunately, I cannot stay, I have some urgent business to attend to,” Gandalf explains, and no matter that it is horrible impolite to do so, for he has _urgent_ business, Bluebell still racks her mind for an offer that will entice him to stay, if only for a little while longer.

Is it worth offering him mushrooms? Yes, it absolutely is.

“There is, however, an important reason I came here first,” Gandalf continues before she can offer. Which is just as well, for she’s just remembered that Hobbits seem to be the only ones capable of truly appreciating the wonders of mushrooms.

“Bluebell Baggins,” Gandalf says with the kind of smile that promises the very best of mischief. Bluebell leans towards him with great curiosity, and the so very tall Gandalf makes that curiosity rise even higher as he bends down with conspirative secrecy. “I am looking for someone to share in an _adventure_.”

Bluebell gasps, unable to believe that Gandalf has truly spoken those words.

She lets out a cry of pure delight and almost hits Gandalf by accident as the intensity of her joy makes it impossible to remain still.

“Oh that is _wonderful_ , an adventure with _you_ – Of course I accept!” she finishes in a near squeal, feeling like a tween all over again. Here she is, fifty years old, and _Gandalf_ is asking her to join him on and adventure!

What a marvelous day this has turned out to be. And it’s only morning yet!

Gandalf laughs as he straightens back to his enormous height, and gives her a satisfied smile. “Excellent, that is settled then. We leave tomorrow at dawn.”

“What?” Bluebell squeaks, and she might’ve been embarrassed by that if she wasn’t so completely thrown off balance by Gandalf’s absurd declaration. “Gandalf, I cannot possibly leave _tomorrow_ , there are far too many things I must do! I need to let the Thain know I’ll be leaving, as well as my solicitor, accountant, relatives, friends, I need to make arrangements to ensure Bag End will be looked after, go over my Will, buy provisions, pack, and most important of all, start organizing the farewell party!”

And those are only the most immediate things she can think of! Bluebell knows she’s missing many more, but in her current state it’s impossible to remember what those are. No matter that these things are supposed to be very familiar to her indeed.

“It seems you have a busy day ahead of you,” Gandalf returns cheerfully instead of retracting his absurd statement. “I shall leave you to it. Though I fear you'll not be able to throw a farewell party, there simply isn’t enough time. I do apologize for that, my dear. But of course, I’m certain you will throw a marvelous party after you return.”

Bluebell stares, completely befuddled. Does... does Gandalf mean that they _must_ leave tomorrow?

Gandalf nods with satisfaction. “I shall return this evening in time for a friendly supper,” he declares as he idly taps his staff against her picket fence, before he turns around and promptly takes his leave.

Bluebell stares at his retreating back, stunned by the speed with which things have happened.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Gandalf says with the kind of surprise that reminds her of mischievous relatives playing tricks, snapping Bluebell out of her shock. Gandalf turns around with a cheerful smile. “We will be joined for both adventure and supper by thirteen Dwarves.”

“ _Thirteen_ Dwarves?” she repeats incredulously, certain that she must’ve misheard him. Except Gandalf nods with confirmation.

“Yes, thirteen. I’m certain you’ll give them a warm welcome, my dear,” he says with the kind of smile that speaks of being very pleased with the trick just played. “I look forward to supper already,” he finishes, before he turns around again and continues walking down the road.

“Gandalf, wait!” she yells as she starts running after him, a thousand questions needing answers still. Then she halts and hurriedly puts out her pipe after she almost scatters the burning embers all over herself, before she lifts her gaze and continues running after him–

Gandalf is gone.

Bluebell looks around with confusion. Gandalf can’t have disappeared, there is no place for him to disappear to! Not for someone of his enormous height.

...Has he hidden himself by crouching behind one of the bushes?

Bluebell checks all the places where he could have hidden. After a moment of hesitation, she even sneaks into her neighbor’s garden. Given the extraordinary circumstances, Bluebell feels that she can be forgiven for her rudeness in the unlikely event she be caught.

Gandalf isn’t there either. Marigold’s zucchinis, however, are stunning as ever.

Part of Bluebell is deeply impressed by Gandalf’s display of wizarding magic. Most of her is having a minor panic attack.

She’s to leave on an adventure _tomorrow_ , without having any time to prepare, or even knowing just where this adventure will take her! Not to mention that she’ll be having _fourteen_ guests over for the night.

She needs to go inform the Thain, her solicitor, accountant, gardener, tell Primula and Drogo that she’ll not be able to have them over for elevenses today, go over her Will, write farewell letters, go to the market to buy provisions, pack for an adventure, prepare the guest rooms, and so much more.

Most important of all, she needs to start cooking.

Oh dear. Gandalf was more right than he knew.

It’s going to be an _incredibly_ busy day.

* * *

 

The day does indeed pass by in a blur of far too rushed preparations. Bluebell knows she’ll be the talk of the Shire for ages to come because of the horribly impolite way she’s upended the plans of so many Hobbits in her haste to get ready. Though on the bright side, many Hobbits will be very popular for quite some time as well, retelling in great detail how she rushed in and threw their day into chaos.

However, Bluebell is much too busy to spare more thought on the matter than that. In fact, she is so busy that she doesn’t even have time to _sit down for her meals_. Instead, she eats her fill without halting her work to get Bag End ready for both her upcoming guests and her upcoming absence.

She is incredibly grateful to Primula and Drogo for rescheduling their own plans so that they can help her prepare. Why, they stay and help until dinner time, the absolute darlings.

Eventually, as evening falls and supper nears, Bluebell feels that she’s done all she can to prepare on such short notice. She cleans herself up and puts on her nicest dress. Yet as she looks at the table laden with food, she can't help but fret.

Has she made enough? Yes, of course she has. Her guests are a Wizard and thirteen Dwarves, this is enough to fee them. It is.

...Maybe she should make another dish or three. Or four. Five. Six?

No, this is a perfectly respectable amount of food for fourteen guests who aren’t Hobbits. She’s cleaned out her entire pantry in addition to her groceries, she doesn’t need to dip into her dried stores as well. She doesn’t.

...One more dish. Just to be sure. Some sweetened apples topped with cranberries, made according to her father’s recipe. Quick to make and delicious to taste.

The bell rings.

Bluebell runs towards the door, but thankfully she catches herself before she throws it open. She mentally chides herself for her silly behavior. For goodness sake, she’s acting like a tween.

Still, she won’t deny that she is nervous. After smoothing out the few wrinkles she can find on her dress, she takes a deep breath, before opening the door with a wide smile, about to welcome Gandalf inside–

Oh dear. It isn’t Gandalf. It’s a Dwarf.

Like all Dwarves, he's tall, though not to the point of absurdity as Men and Elves are. He’s also very wide, and much of his face is buried beneath long sideburns and an even longer beard, dotted with the intricate Dwarven braids that always draws her admiration. Though in this particular case, Bluebell is more interested in the curious tattoos that cover every inch of the top of his shaved head.

Or rather, she would’ve been, had she not been so distracted by his weapons.

“Dwalin,” the Dwarf introduces himself, giving a small bow. “At your service.”

“Bluebell Baggins, at yours,” she replies on habit while dipping in a courtesy, even as she continues to stare at the two enormous axes sticking out from behind his back. This Dwarf, Master Dwalin, seems quite prepared for an adventure indeed.

He seems far less prepared for supper, though.

Bluebell mentally chides herself for her rudeness as she recovers from her surprise. This is her guest, and here she is, not even inviting him inside. Her father raised her better than this.

Bluebell summons a bright smile and invites him in. “Welcome to Bad End, Master Dwalin. You’re the first to arrive, though I’m certain the others will be here soon,” she tells him as he steps inside. Closing the door, she watches Master Dwaling look around with curiosity. Bluebell herself gives the gigantic hammer on his back a curious look as well. It seems far too large and unwieldy to be an effective weapon.

“May I take... well, I would ask for your coat, but your weapons seem to be in the way,” she quips, amused at the figure this Dwarf cuts in her cozy home. He doesn’t exactly match the scenery.

“It’s fine, lass. Where’s the food? He said there’d be lots of it,” Master Dwalin asks as he gently places his various weapons to the side. Bluebell supposes that the “he” mentioned is Gandalf.

Then, with far less care, Master Dwalin takes off his coat and throws it aside. On the floor.

This will not stand.

“Oh, there is, let me show you the way,” she replies as she picks up his cloak and places it neatly on the appropriate hanger. As for his weapons, they are... well, Bluebell supposes the place he set them down is adequate enough. She doesn’t have a designated spot for guests to leave their weapons, after all. Which has never been a problem until now, seeing as she’s only ever entertained fellow Hobbits in her smial. She makes a mental note to rectify this oversight after she returns from her adventure.

Master Dwalin watches her hang up his coat with an expression she can’t quite place, though she thinks he might be bemused. It’s always difficult to discern the emotions of Dwarves, given their great amount of facial hair. It’s even more difficult when she hasn’t gotten the opportunity to know them yet.

She herself is quite bemused to find that Master Dwalin is wearing armour underneath his cloak. Prepared for an adventure indeed. It seems uncomfortable to wear, though. But, she supposes, it probably isn't to a Dwarf. They are very strong, after all.

“Please, follow me,” she invites, and together they make their way to the dining room. Which turns out to be an incredibly odd experience, though it takes her a moment to grasp just why this is so.

She can hear Master Dwalin’s footsteps. Or rather, his bootsteps.

Bluebell has long ago gotten used to the great amount of noise Men and Dwarves make as they move around, so she shouldn’t be surprised by this. And she isn’t, not truly. Only, she’s never had a Dwarf, or Man for that matter, visit her smial, and hearing the clunking of _boots_ inside her home is... odd. Incredibly so, in fact.

As soon as Master Dwalin sees the table laden with food, he stops and stares. Bluebell catches herself fidgeting nervously with her dress and clasps her hands behind her back in order to stop, her previous fretting back with a vengeance.

After a moment of silence that only makes her worry grow, she finally has to ask, no matter that she already knows the answer. She hopes.

“Is it enough? Only, I didn’t have much time to prepare for your arrival, and while I have met Dwarves before, I’ve never had one over for supper, never mind thirteen, so I am a little uncertain as to whether I made enough for you all. Did I?”

Bluebell winces as she realizes just how nervous she sounded. Truly, does she want Master Dwalin to think she is a tween?

More importantly, has she made enough?

Her worry grows even greater as Master Dwalin turns to face her with what is clearly a look of incredulity. But is it incredulous because she’s made enough, or because she’s made too little?

“...Aye, it’s enough,” Master Dwalin returns slowly. Bluebell lets out a great sigh of relief, her apprehension gone in an instant.

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear. I must confess, I was quite worried it would be too little,” she says with a smile. “Please, have a seat. Would you like to have a drink? I have some lovely wine, red or white. Or an ale, if you prefer instead.”

Master Dwalin requests an ale, so Bluebell quickly fills a mug and takes a seat next to him. Master Dwalin has already started eating, which is rather impolite, given that the others have yet to arrive. Still, seeing him eat with such vigor makes Bluebell feel a warm glow of accomplishment.

He likes her cooking.

Bluebell is just about to start up a conversation when the bell rings again. She quickly goes to open the door, once more expecting to see Gandalf.

Once more, she finds herself face to face with a Dwarf instead. One whose every hair is white as snow, so she assumes he is rather old. Though she could be wrong, it’s always impossible to tell with Dwarves. He also has a curious lack of braids.

Just as Master Dwalin, this Dwarf also wears weapons. Or rather, one weapon, which is a sword.

“Balin,” he introduces with a friendly smile, before he bows with flourish. If he is old, he doesn’t move like it. Admittedly, she’s never met a Dwarf who does. “At your service.”

“Bluebell Baggins, at yours,” she replies with a smile and a curtsy, before inviting him inside. “Welcome to Bag End, Master Balin.”

“Thank you, Mistress Baggins. Am I late?” Master Balin asks as he steps inside. Before she can answer, his gaze falls on Master Dwalin’s weapons, and Master Balin brightens, clear as day. He moves deeper into her home without another glance at her, his boots clunking loudly. Which is more than a little impolite of him.

“Brother!” she hears Master Balin exclaims after she closes the door and hurries after him. Well, she supposes that excuses his rush.

“By my beard, you’re shorter and wider than last we met,” she hears Master Dwalin return with the teasing tone so common among family. When she rejoins them, Bluebell finds them standing close together, both wearing obviously fond expressions.

“Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for the both of us,” Master Balin quips, making his brother laugh. Bluebell feels a smile grow as she watches them grasp each other by the shoulders with affection. The scene is truly touching.

The following headbutt, not so much.

“Why would you do that?” she exclaims, horrified and incredulous. She knows that definitely isn’t how Dwarves greet each other, and these are brothers!

Yet both of them are now looking at her with confusion. As though _she_ is the one who did something strange.

“Do what?” Master Dwalin actually asks as though he is genuinely confused.

“It’s just our way of saying hello, lass,” Master Balin tells her at the same time, now wearing a smile. Bluebell bites back the torrent of words about to burst free and takes a calming breath.

Well. She supposes she has no other choice but to accept that. And, as a point in their favor, neither of them seem to be worse for the wear after that... greeting.

Bluebell shakes her head and reminds herself of her manners.

“My apologies, I was caught by surprise at your greeting. It’s very different than the ones I am used to. Now, Master Balin, may I take your sword and coat?” she asks.

“You may, Mistress Baggins,” Master Balin returns with a chuckle. “And might I just say, you have a lovely home.”

Bluebell beams. It might’ve been said for the sake of politeness, she doesn’t yet know Master Balin well enough to say it wasn’t. Even so, it’s always wonderful to hear her beautiful home be praised.

She thanks him for his compliment while gathering his sword and coat. As it turns out, Master Balin is wearing armour underneath his cloak as well, though far less than Master Dwalin is wearing. She also believes she spies the handle of a knife sticking out of the back of one of his boots, though given that Master Balin doesn’t offer it to her, she could be mistaken.

Master Balin gazes around her home with a smile. “I like the way the supports– Mahal’s mercy, what is _that?_ ”

His loud exclamation startles Bluebell into nearly dropping his sword and coat. She watches with confusion as Master Balin stares with clear astonishment at supper.

“That, brother, is dinner,” Master Dwalin says in an amused tone. Which is wrong of course, this is supper. However, given that Master Dwalin isn’t a Hobbit, this is an understandable mistake for him to make.

Bluebell wonders why Master Balin is surprised by the sight. Was he so distracted by his brother that he didn’t notice the food before now? Yet even if he hadn’t, why be surprised by it?

“Just how many are you expecting?” Master Balin demands in a voice full of incredulity.

“Fourteen in total. Thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard, to be precise,” she replies, even more confused by his question. Is he unaware of the number of people who will be going on this adventure? That seems highly unlikely.

Unless Gandalf hasn’t informed him of the exact number? That... does seem like the kind of trick the Wandering Wizard would enjoy. Both from what she remembers of him and from what her mother told her.

“She worried it wouldn’t be enough,” Master Dwalin says, sounding even more amused than before. Oh dear, now she understands.

She’s made too much.

Well, there’s no harm in that. If there are leftovers, she’ll give them to Hamfast. Or rather, she’ll leave him a letter for when he comes over tomorrow, explaining that he is free to take them.

How odd to think that there might be _leftovers_. And here she was worrying she hadn’t made enough. Though Bluebell does feel that this is an easy mistake to make. While she has cooked for folk who aren’t Hobbits before, she’s never done so outside of an adventure, where supplies were always limited. Well, they hadn’t been limited in Rivendell, but even when not on an adventure, Elves eat so little that it isn’t merely absurd, it is truly painful to witness. If her guests were Elves, Bluebell would’ve never worried whether she’d made enough. However, her guests aren’t Elves, they are Dwarves. Who she is neglecting by musing about this.

“Of course I worried. I cannot have my guests go hungry, after all,” she quips at Master Dwalin, before smiling at Master Balin. “Or thirsty, for that matter. Can I get you– but I should put your things away first,” she interrupts herself with sudden realization. “Have a seat, Master Balin, and Master Dwalin too, of course. I will return in but a moment.”

As Bluebell walks back towards the entrance, she hears conversation between the two brothers rise behind her and the clunking of boots as they move towards what she presumes to be the table.

She’s just finished putting Master Balin’s things away when the bell rings once more. This time Bluebell isn’t surprised by the fact that it isn’t Gandalf but two more Dwarves instead. She is, however, most surprised by their appearance.

They're handsome. She’s never seen a handsome Dwarf before. Not that Dwarves are ugly, good gracious no. They are simply... different. They have such large noses, thick eyebrows, and _so much_ facial hair. While it’s true that they often have pleasing physiques, they still can’t be called attractive at all. To her, at least, she would never dare speak for another’s tastes. Why, her own are quite odd for a Hobbit. As evidenced by the fact that she does enjoy a certain amount of facial hair. Only, not as much as Dwarves usually have.

These two Dwarves not only have a pleasing amount of facial hair, the rest of their features are just as pleasant to gaze upon.

“Fili,” the light haired Dwarf with beautiful eyes introduces.

“And Kili,” the dark haired Dwarf with pretty cheekbones introduces as well. Both bow in perfect time with one another. “At your service,” they chorus.

“Bluebell Baggins, at yours,” she replies with a curtsy. “Welcome to Bag End. Please, do come in. May I take your coat and weapons?” she asks as they step inside.

“Here,” Master Fili says and immediately drops two swords into her arms, causing her to almost drop them from the suddenness of it. “Careful, I’ve just had them sharpened,” he finishes with what she can’t decide is a smile or a smirk. He starts pulling very large knives from beneath his cloak and drops them into her arms as well.

“That’s quite an impressive number of weapons,” she tells him, bemused as Master Fili keeps pulling daggers from beneath his cloak as if by magic.

“I try,” Master Fili returns, still wearing that same might be a smile, might be a smirk. Either way, it suits him.

Meanwhile, Master Kili places his own swords, bow and arrows, with care next to the weapons already present. Then he pulls off his cloak and throws it aside. On the floor.

Is this normal behavior for Dwarves? She’s never been to one’s home and it isn’t a topic that has ever come up in conversation with them, so she honestly doesn’t know.

“This is nice,” Master Kili says a he looks around her smial. Bluebell feels a delighted smile grow at the compliment to her home–

“What are you doing?!” she shrieks, making Master Kili freeze from where he’d begun wiping off his boots _on her mother’s glory box_ , and Bluebell quickly pushes the weapons she’s holding into Master Fili’s arms before leaping forward. Master Kili takes a few steps back as she crouches down, but Bluebell is far more focused on her mother’s precious memento.

“How dare you, this is _my mother’s glory box_ , not some mat to wipe your feet off! Have you no shame? Do you think it normal to just damage beloved heirlooms after being invited into someone’s home? This is unspeakably rude, no, this is a travesty, a perversion of every form of hospitality there is, and I do not care one whit that you are a Dwarf and have different customs, if you’ve left but one scratch on my mother’s belongings, I will throw you out of my smial right this instant!” Bluebell is barely aware of what she’s saying as she frantically wipes the dirt off her mother’s glory box and checks the wood for damage.

She lets out a harsh breath, sagging with relief. Miraculously, there’s not even a scratch on it.

“I wasn’t going to damage it,” Master Kili says in a voice that is actually _offended_. However, seeing as he didn’t damage her mother’s glory box, Bluebell doesn’t feel the need to reprimand him. Much.

 “You’re very lucky that you did not,” she still admonishes as she straightens back up and turns toface him. Master Kili looks as offended as he'd sounded, the relatively little facial hair he has leaving no doubt about that.

Unexpectedly, Master Fili is standing besides him as well, armoured and cloakless. Bluebell glances towards to side and sees that Master Fili has placed his weapons to the side and hung up his cloak.

He, at least, didn’t throw it down the floor.

“Pretty impressive how high your voice went there,” Master Fili tells her with what she’s now certain is a smirk, if only for the mocking tone he speaks with. Though, Bluebell reminds herself, she doesn’t know him well, or at all really, and given the unpleasantness that just occurred, it’s more than likely that she is interpreting his behavior in the worst way possible.

“If you want impressive, you should see the food.” Master Dwalin’s voice makes her startle and spin towards him. With surprise, she sees that he’s standing nearby. Apparently she was so distracted by her worry over her mother’s memento that she didn’t even hear him come over.

“Dwalin!” Master Kili exclaims with an admittedly handsome smile. Both he and Master Fili move towards Master Dwalin, and the three of them fell into the kind of easy conversation that says they know each other very well indeed. They move deeper into her home without another glance at her.

Bluebell lets out a huff, still a little annoyed by what happened, and now a little more so at their rudeness. But as she picks up Master Kili’s coat and places it with the others, she hears Masters Fili and Kili exclaim over her cooking with astonishment and delight. Bluebell smiles.

No harm was done, so there is no sense in remaining annoyed. And while it’s true that she doesn’t yet know these Dwarves, she does already know that they have a healthy appreciation for food. A Hobbit can’t ask for better common ground.

Bluebell is about to rejoin her guests when the bell rings once more. She does hope not all her guests are planning to arrive alone or in pairs. If they do, it might almost be better to remain by the entrance until all are present.

As she opens the door, Bluebell discovers that there’ll be no need for that, for she needs to take a few quick steps to the side in order to avoid being buried beneath a veritable avalanche of Dwarves tumbling into her home. Groans fill the air while Bluebell stares with astonishment at the wholly unexpected sight on her floor.

“Hello again, my dear. I must say, supper smells wonderful.”

Bluebell lifts her gaze from the mass of Dwarves now untangling themselves from one another with a great amount of grumbling, and sees Gandalf standing on her doorstep, bend down so that he can look into her smial. Gandalf appears both amused and very pleased with himself.

Bluebell can do nothing but laugh.

“As always, Gandalf, you’re right on time,” she tells him with a smile.

“Of course. I am a Wizard, after all,” he replies with a charming smile and merry eyes. Bluebell has to laugh once more.

This entire day has been hectic, rushed, and entirely unplanned, and this evening is shaping up to be loud, busy, and full of surprises. All because Gandalf, the most curious surprise of all, has invited her to join him on an adventure. One which hasn’t even started yet.

Bluebell can’t wait to find out what will happen once they set out properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, Gandaf's urgent business was that he needed to go restock on pipeweed. He's nearly out after being away for so long.


	2. Chapter 2

Supper turns out to be quite the experience. It is incredibly loud, incredibly busy, and incredibly messy.

It's wonderful.

They're still missing one Dwarf, but the others don't seem inclined to wait for their final companion, digging into supper with gusto. Just to be safe, Bluebell sets aside supper for one. Imagine that her final guest arrives and there's nothing left for him! As a hostess, she cannot let that happen.

As a hostess, it's also her duty to make sure that all her guests are enjoying themselves, but it soon becomes clear that they don't need her help with that. Conversation flows freely all around.

Bluebell seats herself between Masters Bifur and Bofur, fills her plate, and starts getting to know her guests.

As it turns out, most of her guests are related to one another. Their names have already revealed that of course, but now she learns the specifics of it.

Masters Balin and Dwalin are first cousins to Masters Oin and Gloin, and all four are second cousins to Masters Fili and Kili, who are brothers to one another. Master Oin, who is hard of hearing, is brother to Master Gloin. Master Gloin also staunchly refused to part with his axes, no matter how much she had insisted.

Masters Ori, Nori and Dori are brothers as well, and very distantly related to the others. Bluebell is truly in awe of Masters Nori and Dori's hairstyles. Master Dori's hair and beard seems to exist entirely out of exquisite braids, exceptionally complicated even for a Dwarf, and Master Nori's hair is actually shaped like a starburst! He has also braided his eyebrows into his hair, and Bluebell truly wonders how he's managed to accomplish that. Master Ori's hair isn't quite as spectacular as that of his brothers, but though it is more subtle, his braids are exceptionally intricate as well.

Then there are Masters Bombur, Bofur and Bifur. The three of them are all related, though they aren't to the others. Masters Bofur and Bombur are brothers, and Master Bifur is their first cousin. Master Bombur is delightfully knowledgeable about cooking, able to discern every ingredient in a dish with but a single bite. Master Bofur is a toymaker, and he talks about his craft with such passion that it's impossible to not be swept away by his words for even a moment. As for Master Bifur, he is a most curious Dwarf indeed.

Master Bifur has an _axe_ stuck in his head, and apparently this prevents him from speaking anything but Khuzdul. Fortunately, he does understand the Common Tongue. He also loves eating flowers. Master Bofur informed her of this after his cousin said something in that guttural language of theirs and she asked for clarification. Though she hastened to add that they aren't obliged in any way to provide a translation, for she knows that Dwarves are most secretive about their language. Fortunately, Master Bofur doesn't mind telling her the general content of what his cousin says.

It seems that Master Bifur was lamenting the fact that there are no flowers for supper. Bluebell immediately sets out to fix this, and makes a mental note to add an apology in her letter to Hamfast for the rather hazardous way she cuts her flowers. This is an emergency, though.

She can't have a guest be _unsatisfied_.

The smile Master Bifur gives when she presents her hastily made flower salad, sprinkled with an improvised vinaigrette, is more than worth the minor damage to her garden.

Then Master Nori tells a delightful tale about an odd merchant who'd come to the Blue Mountains, and the even odder merchandize he had. Colorful birds that talk, enormous scarves meant to worn as dresses, and most curious of all, jewelry made of ivory!

Bluebell knows that the odds are incredibly against her, but she still hopes to one day see the mighty oliphaunts that ivory came from.

When she confesses to Master Nori that she's planning on one day traveling to the Blue Mountains herself, Masters Dori, Ori and Bofur immediately join the conversation, and give her so many recommendations on what to visit that she gathers quill and parchment to write it all down. She never would've done so with other Hobbits, but Dwarves have different customs when it comes to hosting a meal, so it isn't impolite to do this.

Of course, traveling to the Blue Mountains is an adventure for later. First she has to finish this one.

This adventure, which she still knows nothing about. She asks Gandalf for further information, but he merely replies that all will be explained when her final guest arrives. A guest whose name, Thorin Oakenshield, she only learns by asking Master Bofur.

Gandalf actually interrupts Master Bofur as soon as he tells her the name, shamelessly blatant in his intention to ensure she doesn't learn anything more about either her final guest or their upcoming adventure by asking about the changes to Bag End he's noticed since last he was here.

Bluebell has forgotten just how mischievous the Wandering Wizard is. It's of the harmless sort though, and Bluebell is more than happy to explain all the new additions in detail. Especially the various mementos she's gathered during her adventures. Gandalf himself seems just as delighted to hear of her travels as she is to talk of them.

She truly has missed him.

Eventually, supper starts coming to an end. As it turns out, while there will be leftovers, there won't be many. Bluebell is quite pleased with herself.

When Master Bifur starts moving towards the kitchen with a stack of dishes and Master Bofur informs her that he intends to clean them, Bluebell has to stop him, different customs or not. He's her guest, it goes against everything her father taught her to let him do the dishes.

When she tells him so, she receives what she is fairly certain is a stubborn look, as well as a curt reply that she doesn't understand but which sounds rather offended. He continues towards the kitchen no matter how much she pleads with him, so she returns to the others in the hope that one might be able to help her.

They do not, in fact, help her.

"Well of course he's cleaning them," Master Bofur informs her cheerfully. "Can't have you doing the dishes after a meal like this, it just isn't polite. In fact, the rest of us should help. _Right, lads?_ " That last is shouted, causing all to fall silent.

"What'd he say?" Master Oin asks as he lifts his hearing aid.

"I said, we need to do the dishes!" Master Bofur replies, loud and merry. Bluebell attempts to protest as the Dwarves starts to grin. And for some reason, they start stomping the ground with perfect rhythm as well.

"No you don't, you're guests, you can't–"

"Kili, catch!" Master Nori interrupts and Bluebell lets out a horrified cry as a piece of her best pottery is _thrown through the air!_

Master Kili catches it, but Bluebell doesn't have time to be relieved by this because _he throws it through the air as well_.

"Are you insane? That is my best pottery!" she yells with her heart stuck in her throat, even as Master Fili catches the plate. Once more she doesn't have time to be relieved, for he immediately throws it away as well, out of sight and into the kitchen. Judging from the lack of shattering ceramic, she assumes that Master Bifur has mercifully caught it. "It is in no way meant to be thrown through the air," Another plate flies passed, following the same route as the first. "and if you break– stop that, you'll blunt them!" she yells as the insane Dwarves start to not only bang but scrape her cutlery together. In time with the beat they're still stomping, an absent part of her notices.

"You hear that, lads? She's scared we'll blunt the knives," Master Bofur declares far too cheerfully as _more of her pottery is thrown through the air_. Bluebell attempts to catch the pieces, but Master Kili keeps hindering her!

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks," Master Kili actually sings as he  _kicks_ a platter! How it doesn't shatter she will never know.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Master Fili chants while juggling plate and platter _with his elbows_.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plaaates," Master Bofur belts out as bowls join the flying ceramic.

"That's what Bluebell Baggins hates!" every Dwarf choruses.

Bluebell can only watch with horror as, in perfect time with the song these lunatic Dwarves are now singing, more and more of her dishes fly through the air in the most heart stopping of ways. She keeps expecting something to shatter any moment now.

Nothing shatters.

Bluebell's dread starts to make way for wonder as she watches what she is beginning to realize is a truly magical display of teamwork and dexterity. Everywhere she looks Dwarves are moving in time with the music, yet somehow no one gets in each other's way. No one drops any of her dishes either.

That music suddenly includes instrumental guidance in addition to the stomping still going strong. She sees that Master Bofur is playing a flute, though she has no idea where it came from, and Master Oin is using one of her teapots as a whistle!

Master Balin throws plates over his shoulder with perfect aim without even looking, and Master Dwalin is passing along her pottery with his head! Master Ori catches a veritable mountain of plates, and Master Nori is actually dancing in place as he uses his feet to pass the ceramic along!

It is _marvelous_.

Bluebell spares a single moment to look at Gandalf with wide eyes, unable to believe what she is seeing. She gets a cheerful smile in return, before he returns to watching this magical display. Bluebell does the same, trailing after the Dwarves as they for all intents and purposes dance towards her kitchen.

In no time at all, every last of the dishes has not only ended up in the kitchen, they've been washed and even dried!

"That's what Bluebell Baggins hates!" the Dwarves finish together, before they burst into merry laughter. So does Gandalf, who she didn't even see come into the kitchen, too enchanted by this marvelous show.

Bluebell can do nothing but join in, utterly delighted by the wondrous surprise this turned out to be.

All fall silent when a loud knocking sounds on her door. Bluebell does so out of surprise, yet the others seem to do so out of... excitement? Nervousness? Both?

"He is here," Gandalf declares, hushed and grave. It fits the atmosphere perfectly.

Bluebell is incredibly curious what the leader of this merry group will be like. Especially when his mere arrival causes a reaction like this.

All move towards the entrance, and while no one runs, everyone moves with haste. Gandalf is the first to arrive, courtesy of his absurdly long legs, but Bluebell and the others are right behind him. Instead of letting her open the door as a good hostess should, Gandalf opens it himself.

"Gandalf," she hears her final guest greet. Unfortunately, she cannot see him, for Gandalf is blocking her view. Bluebell wonders if the mischievous Gandalf has done so on purpose.

Then Gandalf takes a large step to the side and Bluebell forgets all about his mischievousness as well as everything else.

That, is the most attractive male she has ever seen.

Eyes of the purest blue, cheekbones to die for, lips begging to be kissed, the perfect amount of facial hair, and his _curls_. Lush, dark, streaked with alluring hints of silver, and flowing down his shoulders in a way that makes her fingers itch to comb through them.

"I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice," the gorgeous male says in a low voice that rumbles in the most delicious of ways, those stunning eyes aimed at Gandalf. "I'd not have found it at all if not for that mark on the fence," he continues while looking around her home.

A vague part of her wonders what mark he's talking about but most of her can only continue to stare as the gorgeous male sets aside his weapons and pulls off his cloak. Which succeeds in making him even more attractive, for those shoulders are made to be grasped in the throes of pleasure.

Then he _smiles_ , and it turns him from breathtaking into pure devastation.

A very small part of her realizes that Gandalf is saying something but it's impossible to understand the words because Bluebell is light headed, feels almost drunk, and she's never understood how someone can be overwhelmed by lust at first sight, but now she does, now she understands perfectly, because she is incapable of doing anything but stare at this specimen of physical perfection.

The specimen of physical perfection is looking at her with eyes she can get lost in forever, talking in that mesmerizing voice. Then he stops talking.

"I would love to be intimate with you." Oh no. Oh no, no, no, she _said that out loud_ , and those stunning eyes have widened with shock and she needs to apologize right this instant–

"I am _so sorry_ , I never should've– I've a terrible habit of blurting out my thoughts you see, and sometimes those thoughts aren't ones that should be spoken out loud, often times really, it's one of my worst flaws, as evidenced by my wholly indecent propositioning of you, though the invitation is sincere," What is she saying? "–and I do hope you'll accept regardless of my rudeness," She needs to stop talking. "–because you are astonishingly attractive," _Right now_. "I am going to stop talking now," Bluebell commands herself and firmly presses her lips together to ensure not one more word escapes her. She also averts her eyes down the floor, for she fears that if she doesn't, this male's sheer allure will cause another torrent of absolute mortification.

For a moment, there is only silence. Bluebell can feel the flush on her cheeks grow worse as she wishes that the ground would swallow her whole. Then Masters Fili and Kili burst out laughing, and the others join in. Even though she's still horribly embarrassed by her own behavior, Bluebell feels a faint smile grow. She's entertained her guests, at least.

Bluebell dares to sneak a quick glance at the gorgeous male when the laughter suddenly cuts off, and sees that he is giving a stern look to the others. The tilt of his head allows her to admire his striking profile and the way those magnificent curls fall down his shoulders– Bluebell quickly averts her gaze back to the floor before she can mortify herself further.

What an awful first impression she is making.

She's still lamenting this fact when she realizes that Gandalf is talking again, saying her name and reflexively making her lift her eyes towards him. "Bluebell, my dear, if you'd be so kind?"

She has no idea what he is asking for.

"Yes, of course," her treacherous mouth says for some unfathomable reason instead of asking for clarification. But it makes her snap out of her stupor, and with rising horror Bluebell realizes that not only is she making an awful first impression, she is _neglecting her guest_.

"Oh dear, you must think me a terrible hostess," she frets as she returns her gaze towards her gorgeous guest, momentarily distracted by the depth of his eyes once more. "I assure you, I'm not, truly," she continues, before mentally admonishing herself. If she doesn't want to be thought of as a terrible hostess, she shouldn't act like one.

Bluebell curtsies deeply, a pale attempt to make up for her previous lack of manners.

"Welcome to Bag End–" His _name_ , quick, think, what did Master Bofur say his name was? "Master Oakenshield," she remembers just in time. "Follow me, please, I will show you the way. And bring you something to eat of course."

She quickly moves to relieve him of his cloak and places it with the others, before attempting to give him a welcoming smile.

She fails. Partly because of the embarrassment she is still overwhelmed by, but mostly it's caused by seeing him up close, because those eyes, lips, _curls_. This near she can see the intricate braids hidden within that gorgeous mane, and she feels her hands twitch with sheer desire to run through the strands and uncover every single one.

Bluebell quickly moves towards the dining room before she can humiliate herself further by giving into the urge. She remembers too late that she should've shown her gorgeous guest the way instead of fleeing from him, but perhaps this is for the best. She needs a moment to recover from his rattling allure.

"This way, please," she calls back, for there is a difference between needing a moment to recover and throwing out all sense of hospitality.

The thought inspires a burst of hysterical giggles she barely manages to smother in time. Without a doubt, this has been the greatest surprise of all, if only for the intensity of her own reaction.

Bluebell is certain that no other surprise can surpass this.

* * *

 

The Dragon surpasses it.

* * *

 

"I'm alright, I just need to sit quietly for awhile," she assures Gandalf when he joins her in the sitting room. She's still feeling a little light headed, but at least she no longer feels on the verge of fainting. When reading the extremely explicit contract, there was a moment where she truly feared she would.

Bluebell gratefully accepts the cup of chamomile tea Gandalf offers, letting the taste and warmth soothe her as she takes a few sips.

Gandalf takes the seat in front of her. The sight of him in the one armchair big enough to hold him makes a faint smile grow. It's been decades since she last saw him in this position.

The last time she had, Mother was seated in her own spot.

"I must say, that wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting," Gandalf says, light and teasing.

"Gandalf. You are asking me to steal from a _Dragon_ ," she points out in what she feels is a perfectly reasonable manner for this situation.

Gandalf nods as though she said he's asking her to steal mushrooms from farmer Ferdibrand instead.

"Indeed I am. I did say I was looking for someone to share in an adventure, my dear," he tells her with a charming smile. As though he is not confusing two very different things with one another.

Bluebell takes another calming sip of tea. She doesn't say anything more, for she truly does need to sit quietly for awhile. Needs some time to process this.

Needs to decide whether she still wants to go.

"I realize this endeavor will be dangerous," Gandalf says as though he's talking about the perils of a normal adventure and not about a Dragon. "But I cannot think of anyone better–"

"Gandalf," she interrupts, soft but firm. Gandalf falls silent. "I need to think about this. In silence."

Bluebell is most grateful that Gandalf heeds her wishes. He settles comfortably in his chair, looking as though he could wait until the end of times for her to answer. Patient in a way only the ageless can be.

Bluebell closes her eyes and clutches her cup a little too tightly in an attempt to steady herself. She hears her guests move around her smial and the unintelligible murmurs of soft conversation.

Her mind is still stuck on the Dragon. Because it's a Dragon.

It's a _Dragon_. A furnace with wings, as Master Bofur so aptly put it. Flash of light, searing pain, and poof, she's nothing but a pile of ash.

Bluebell isn't terrified by danger. Scared, yes, any sane person is. But not terrified. If she were, she never would've left the Shire.

Adventures are inherently dangerous, no matter how much one prepares for them. They're fraught with peril, and there have been a number of times that Bluebell was certain her end was near. Like the time she was robbed on the Old North Road, or when Morinth's caravan was ambushed, and of course she can never forget the Swan Incident.

Every one of those times she was terrified, but only for as long as the danger lasted. Never before, and never after, either.

The mere idea of a Dragon terrifies her. Utterly so.

It terrifies her in a way only wolves do.

What Gandalf is asking is more than an adventure. He's asking her to go on a suicidal quest doomed to fail.

He's asking her to give up her life.

Bluebell opens her eyes. She looks at the Wandering Wizard, who's been visiting the Shire for longer than history can remember. Who entices Hobbits to go on adventures.

Not all of those Hobbits return home.

Gandalf is still wearing that air of infinite patience, as everlasting as the earth itself.

"Why didn't you want to see me?" she hears herself ask. The question has nothing to do with the topic at hand, yet she suddenly and desperately needs to know the answer.

Gandalf raises an inquisitive brow. Bluebell realizes that he must not know what she is referring to, given that her question came without warning or context.

"After the Fell Winter," she clarifies, and the very name is so chilling she cannot say anything more.

Her words make Gandalf freeze, his previous composure replaced by shock.

Gandalf wasn't present during those dark days. He only arrived after the worst of the frost had already broken. When he did, he helped as much as he could, bringing desperately needed supplies, using magic to ease people's pain, helping to plant the fields. Though Bluebell only knows this by hearsay, she never saw him, no matter how much she tried. And she had tried, yet even when arriving at the place she'd been told he was but a moment before, he'd always left right before she could catch him.

It hadn't taken her long to realize that he was avoiding her.

It made her angry, furious even. Made her decide to avoid him as well out of nothing but spite.

She felt that Gandalf didn't deserve to be called a friend to Mother if he didn't even wish to see her daughter. Didn't wish to honor her memory.

She felt betrayed. Wasn't he her friend, too? Back then she had decided that he was not. Friends didn't abandon each other as he had.

Bluebell isn't angry anymore. She no longer feels betrayed, either. Hasn't since she left for Rivendell and finally found peace with her parents' passing there. She understands that he must've had his reasons for avoiding her.

Right now she desperately needs to know what those reasons were.

Gandalf's hunches in on himself, startlingly brittle and so very weary. Weighed down by impossible age, in a way she has never seen him be.

"...Because I was a coward," he confesses softly, closing eyes as ancient as the world itself. He doesn't say anything further.

Bluebell doesn't press for more. She's not even sure she still wishes to know.

The choice is taken from her when Gandalf lets out a worn sigh and opens those ancient eyes. "I wished to avoid being confronted by Belladonna's loss. In a way I could not had I come to her home. Had I seen you," he says in the softest of voices, before he gives the shadow of a smile. "You are so very like her."

"As I recall, Mother possessed a sharp wit and even sharper tongue. That isn't quite how I would describe myself," she returns with a faint smile, an old grief she hadn't been aware was still there soothed by his answer. By the knowledge that he avoided her not because he didn't care, but because he cared too much.

Because he'd been struggling with his grief just as much as she had.

Gandalf chuckles softly. "Well, you are your father's daughter, too," he teases with a fond look, the sense of impossible age lifting until it is near unnoticeable like usual. "But your spirit? Your spirit is exactly like that of your mother."

Bluebell's smile grows. She's heard similar things her entire life, but hearing it from Gandalf warms her in ways it never has.

"That spirit is why I wish for you to join this quest. I can think of no one better for this task," he continues, imploring and passionate, making her smile drop. She almost tells him that, had Gandalf asked Mother to join him on this mad quest instead, Mother would've said no.

Except that would be a lie. Bluebell knows that if Gandalf had asked Mother before she herself was born, Mother wouldn't simply have said yes, she would've jumped on the invitation without a second thought.

Father, on the other hand, would've done the polite equivalent of slamming the door in Gandalf's face for even daring to suggest it.

"You're asking me to give up my life," she says, unsure of what she wishes to hear in return. Unsure if she is willing to pay the price of going.

"You know that leaving home is always dangerous," Gandalf returns, the unspoken words even louder than the spoken ones.

 _You know home can always turn dangerous as well_.

"There is a great difference between going on an adventure and going on a mad quest to steal from a _Dragon_ ," she retorts sharply. That silent message was truly uncalled for.

Gandalf realizes this as well, for he clears his throat in a way that shows just how uncomfortable his own actions have made him. Then he summons a charming smile, and Bluebell knows he plans to continue his attempt of convincing her to come along.

"Truly, there's not that great a difference between..." Gandalf trails off at her deeply unimpressed look. She's not some sheltered Hobbit who has never left her home. She knows exactly how dangerous the road can be.

That danger pales next to _a giant furnace with wings that can incinerate her in an instant_.

Gandalf continues to wear an awkward expression a moment longer, before he lets out a soft sigh and his shoulders slump with resignation. "I know I am asking a great deal of you. Perhaps too much. But I am not asking you to give up your life," he assures with an earnest and imploring look. "The odds are against us, true, but I truly believe that we stand a chance. I truly believe we can reclaim the home lost to them."

Oh, that is a low blow. From the moment she heard the Dwarves' wish to regain their home, Bluebell's heart has been crying out to help them.

She cannot even imagine losing Bag End. Cannot imagine being forced to leave the Shire forever. But she knows that if she ever lost her home, she would do all in her power to reclaim it.

How can she not do all in her power to help these Dwarves do the same?

Except their home has been taken by a Dragon. And they want to steal from that Dragon. More specifically, they want _her_ to steal from that Dragon.

Her mind firmly reminds her heart that this is the equivalent of certain suicide. For goodness sake, she was almost killed by a swan once! What hope is there against a Dragon?

"You don't need me on this quest," she tries to convince both Gandalf and her heart. Her mind is well aware of this fact already. "An Elf would be a far better choice for a burglar." They move even more lightly than Hobbits, after all.

"Smaug knows the scent of Elves as well," Gandalf counters.

"Elves can hide their scent," she points out the flaw in that argument.

"But that requires magic, and magic has it's own distinctive scent. To a Dragon," he adds when she furrows her brow with confusion, for while the air in Rivendell does has a unique feeling no other place has, she's never known magic to have an actual scent.

Bluebell supposes that Gandalf could be making up that Dragons can smell magic, no matter that this doesn't seem like something he'd do. Yet even if he has, it doesn't truly matter.

This isn't his decision to make.

She lets out a tired sigh. "Gandalf, I need some time to think about this," she reminds him.

Gandalf purses his lips, and for a moment Bluebell fears that he won't heed her wishes. She is grateful when he gives an agreeing nod instead.

"Very well." He stands and moves to leave, yet hesitates right before he does. "...I cannot force you to come along, Bluebell, nor do I wish to. But I very much hope that you'll decide to join us." He gives a small but so very warm smile. One she best remembers seeing aimed at Mother. "I was not exaggerating when I said I can think of no one better than you."

Bluebell gives a faint smile back but cannot summon the energy for anything more. Fortunately, Gandalf doesn't mind, and he finally leaves her in peace. Bluebell closes her eyes.

A Dragon. He wants her to steal from a _Dragon_. Pure madness.

He truly believes that they can succeed.

Just because he believes that, doesn't mean it's true.

He's not asking her to actually fight the Dragon. She just needs to sneak in, grab one small thing, and sneak back out. She is very good at sneaking.

There are others far more suited to being a burglar.

Like who? She's never met a Man or Dwarf who doesn't move with a ridiculous amount of noise, even without taking into account that the Dragon knows their scent. And if Dragons can truly smell magic, it would be pointless for Elves to use it to hide their scent as well. Not to mention that out of all Hobbits alive, she is without a doubt the one with the most experience with adventure, meaning she truly is the best choice for this task.

She has zero experience with Dragons. And while she is very good at sneaking, that doesn't mean that she can't be caught, as past experiences have dearly taught her. If she gets caught by a Dragon, she'll be a pile of ash before she can even blink.

They've lost their home.

Bluebell lets out a frustrated sigh. The struggle between her heart and mind is only getting worse.

She becomes aware that she's rapping her fingers against her cup with agitation, so Bluebell drinks the rest of her tea and decides to go ensure that all the guest rooms are still in order. She knows that they are, but she simply cannot remain still.

She deliberately skirts the small groups clustering the rooms and hallways, in no mood to be drawn into conversation. Her guest don't seem to mind, all are conversing quietly and intimately, indecipherable murmurs filling her home.

As expected, the guest rooms are still in order. Bluebell busies herself by aggressively fluffing up the pillows even more than they already are and smoothing out every single crinkle she can find on the sheets. All the while her heart and mind continue to battle.

The most awful part is that she's wanted to go on an adventure with Gandalf ever since she was old enough to understand the stories Mother told her. After her return from Rivendell, it became a wishful dream she held no hope of ever coming true. Yet now here he is, inviting her to join him.

Except he's not asking her to join him on an adventure. He's asking her to steal from a _Dragon_. It's certain suicide, plain and simple.

Every time she sets out on an adventure, she knows it might be her last.

There is a great difference between might and will. If she goes on this one, it _will_ be her last.

That is an incredibly bleak outlook, and she knows that only creates self fulfilling prophecies.

It's not a bleak outlook, it's a realistic one, seeing as she is supposed to steal from a _Dragon_. Flash of light, pile of ash.

Gandalf believes that she can do it.

Gandalf could be wrong.

Gandalf won't ever invite her on another adventure. The Wandering Wizard never invites anyone more than once.

So she's to give up her life simply because she wishes to follow in her mother's footsteps? Mother would give her such a tongue lashing for even thinking it, never mind how Father would react.

Except that isn't the only reason she wants to go. It's not even the most important one. She wants to help these Dwarves. Wants to see them return home after all this time.

Dying in the attempt won't help them regain their home.

Bluebell lets out a frustrated sound and rubs her eyes with a grimace. This is ridiculous, she's not one wit closer to making a decision.

In the end, the questions that matters most is this. Will she regret it more if she stays or if she goes?

...She doesn't know.

If she goes, the question becomes rather moot. She won't be able to regret anything if she's dead.

If she stays, she'll forever wonder what could've been.

They're planning to steal from a Dragon. Failure is the only option.

She'll always wonder if they would've succeeded had she been there.

At least she'll be alive to wonder about it.

Bluebell lets out a sound of pure aggravation and resists the urge to kick something. This is getting her nowhere.

Moving towards the next guest room to continue taking out her frustration on the pillows, she halts when she hears several voices... humming in song?

Allowing herself to be distracted, she follows the sound. It's coming from the sitting room, but Bluebell halts before she can reach it.

"Far over the misty mountains cold..."

Master Oakenshield is singing, a vague part of her realizes.

"To dungeons deep and caverns old..."

Bluebell is frozen, can only listen as he continues to sing about the loss of his home. The sound is captivating as it is haunting, full of so much yearning, yet at the same time it is so soft and tentative. As though he doesn't dare to sing louder. Doesn't dare to hope it might be possible to ever return.

It's enough to tighten her throat and make her heart clench.

Then the others join in, full of that same yearning and the most fragile of hope as well, their song stealing her breath away.

Bluebell comes to a decision.

She'll go. She will do all she can to help them reclaim their home.

She'll forever regret it if she doesn't.

* * *

 

Bluebell signs the contract after recovering from that haunting song. Gandalf is delighted with her decision, and Master Balin formally welcomes her to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Master Oakenshield himself merely gives her an unreadable look, not seeming to care one way or another whether she joins or not. Well, he seems to give of a sense of being unimpressed, but he was already doing so before she gave her answer, and that answer has neither increased nor diminished it.

His reaction is not encouraging, but now that she has made up her mind, Bluebell won't be swayed from her decision no matter what. She also does her best to not get distracted by the way the fire is dancing across his features, the play of light and shadows enhancing his beauty in the most mesmerizing of ways.

When her guests start settling down for the night, Bluebell makes sure that all their needs are met. Eventually, she feels that she's done all she can, and Bluebell knows she should start settling down as well. They leave at the break of dawn, and a good night's rest before an adventure is essential. Especially when she won't have another bed to sleep on for the foreseeable future.

Bluebell goes outside instead. A good night's rest might be essential, but so is the need to say goodbye to her home.

She closes the door behind her and lets out a tired sigh. The day's work is finally catching up to her now that it is coming to an end.

Turning to take a seat on her bench, she is startled to see it already being occupied. "Oh, my apologies, I didn't realize anyone was out here," she hears herself say to Master Oakenshield, flustered by his unexpected presence and the intensity of the eyes piercing her own. "I thought everyone was settling down to sleep?"

The awkwardness of her reply might've made Bluebell wince if she hadn't been so distracted by the way the moonlight catches on the silver in his curls. When she realizes what she is doing, she mentally slaps herself. For goodness sake, she's acting like a moonstruck tween. Quite literally so, given the time of night.

Master Oakenshield doesn't reply, merely turns his head forward to look out the darkened landscape.

Bluebell hesitates. She... is in no mood for conversation. Yet she holds even less desire to leave.

She wants to say goodbye to her home.

Mind made up, she takes a seat next to Master Oakenshield and sets about lighting her pipe, planning to enjoy a final smoke in the comforts of home. Fortunately, it seems that Master Oakenshield holds no desire for conversation either. In fact, he seems to not care one way or another that he now has a companion. This suits Bluebell quite nicely.

She takes a deep drag of Old Toby, letting it soothe her still slightly frayed nerves as she attempts to say farewell to her home.

Unfortunately, she finds she cannot succeed at doing so. For the most ridiculous of reasons, too.

Her eyes keep wandering towards Master Oakenshield, no matter how hard she attempts to keep them off him. Bluebell feels herself flush, embarrassed by her own behavior, yet she cannot help herself. Master Oakenshield has all the features she finds most attractive, and given her admittedly odd tastes, she's never met someone who possesses them all.

The combination is so stunning that she cannot help but admire the sight.

As time passes, Bluebell finds herself being more and more aware of how near he is, the warmth radiating from him, seated so close that it would take no effort at all to touch those beautiful curls. Which makes her realize that she's fidgeting nervously from the desire to do so, yet she can't bring herself to stop no matter how much she tries.

Sitting so near him might not have been the brightest of ideas.

"Why did you agree to join?"

The question startles her into snapping her head towards him. "Your song brought tears to my eyes, how could I not agree after hearing it?" she hears herself answer before she realizes that he isn't even looking at her. This changes as he turns to face her and raises an unimpressed brow. Admittedly, being unimpressed seems to be his usual state of being, so perhaps the raised brow means something else.

His eyes outshine the very stars themselves, and Bluebell feels her flush grow worse as she is pinned down by them. "By which I mean, that is..." She has no idea what she is attempting to say. "Oh bother," she finishes with a grimace, cursing herself for acting like this. She takes a deep drag of Old Toby in an attempt to gather her wits.

"So you'll throw your life away because you enjoy our singing," Master Oakenshield condemns, the tone of his voice letting her know that she wasn't imagining him being unimpressed with her reply.

It is completely unfair how alluring he still sounds.

"Of course not," she rebukes with a frown. "And truly, it is most unhealthy to start an adventure with a bleak outlook like that," she chides, for while it's true that failure is for all intents and purposes guaranteed, going on an adventure with that kind of mentality only ensures that even the possibility of success will not exist.

Now that Bluebell has decided to go, she'll treat this like any other adventure. Which means that she assumes they'll be successful. After all, worrying about her impending doom will only sour this experience. Bluebell is planning to enjoy every moment to the fullest instead.

Master Oakenshield gives her a deeply disapproving look, the sentiment clear as day. "I speak only the truth. You'll not last even a week on the road."

Bluebell narrows her eyes and straightens her back, insulted by his casual dismissal of her skills.

"I'll have you know you won't find a better traveled Hobbit than me in all the Shire, or indeed, even Bree," she snaps, so offended she forgets all about politeness. "Why, I made it all the way to Rivendell once, so I'll ask you kindly to keep such ignorant comments to yourself, for they are patently untrue."

The nerve of him. Who is he to tell her that she won't last one the road? She's been adventuring for two entire decades!

"If you've experience with the road, your decision to throw your life away because you enjoy our singing is even more foolish," the infuriating Master Oakenshield derides, and for a moment Bluebell is equally torn between the urge to either slap or kiss him. She thanks every Valar there is that she manages to do neither.

"I didn't agree because I _enjoy your singing_ ," she denies instead. Is he deliberately misinterpreting her words, or does he truly think so little of her? "I did so because you've lost your home, and your desire to reclaim it has moved me in ways few things ever have," she finishes more calmly, the reminder of why she's doing this soothing most of her aggravation.

...Admittedly, that's not the only reason she wishes to go, though it is the most important one. Still, in the interest of being truthful. "That is the most important reason, but I will admit that Gandalf asking me to join plays a part a well."

"Explain," Master Oakenshield orders brusquely. What a rude person he is turning out to be. Perhaps that is unkind of her, she doesn't yet know him well enough to make a definite judgment about his character. Even so, she owes him no explanation.

...Except she's the one who brought up Gandalf. It would be impolite not to clarify.

Master Oakenshield might not care about manners, but Bluebell does.

"Gandalf once asked my mother to join him on an adventure, and she always spoke fondly of that time. She considered it her best adventure in fact, and I..." Bluebell hesitates. But she's said this much already, it would be ridiculous to stop now. "I suppose I wish to honor her memory by doing the same. I realize this might sound silly to you, given your own motivations, but even if they are simple, these are my reasons for accompanying you."

"I doubt your mother would want you to throw your life away." The disapproving retort makes an aggravated sound escape her, and she is once again torn between the urge to either slap or kiss him.

She might not yet know him well, but Bluebell is becoming more and more convinced that Master Oakenshield is inherently rude. The nerve of him, to talk about Mother as though he knows her!

"Of course Mother would never want that, but she loved adventuring even more than I, and she knew, as do I for that matter, that adventures are never safe, no matter how short they are," she snaps, words tumbling from her lips without her consent because of her anger. "So given that Gandalf will never again invite me on another one, and given that your own reason for going is the most noble one I can imagine, I've decided to accompany you, no matter the dangers I am well aware we will face. And now I ask you to respect that decision, for it is mine and mine alone to make." With that, she lifts her pipe and takes rapid puffs, more to express her aggravation than in an effort to calm down.

"...Very well," Master Oakenshield unexpectedly acquiesces, and returns to watching the landscape. It startles her. She honestly expected him to continue questioning her decision in the rudest way possible.

...Perhaps she has misjudged him after all?

With a smile, Bluebell turns to face the landscape as well and takes an indulging drag of Old Toby. Now that this unpleasantness is out of the way, she can finally say goodbye to her home.

Except she still can't, for she soon finds herself becoming distracted yet again by Master Oakenshield breathtaking beauty. It's even worse now that she no longer has the buffer of being annoyed with him.

Would he... No, she cannot ask that. It would be unspeakably rude.

...The damage is already done. And truly, when inviting folk other than Hobbits for this, one must always be rude. Unlike Hobbits, other folk have no polite way of doing so. Not to mention that this will most likely be the only chance she'll ever have. The road is no place for things of this nature.

"What is it?" The question makes snap her head back towards Master Oakenshield, who is still gazing out their surroundings. Then she blushes like a teen when she realizes that he is asking why she keeps sneaking glances at him.

Well. It is now or never.

"...Might you be interested in accepting my, ah, earlier proposal?" she asks in a far too awkward way. Why can't other folk have sensible ways of asking for this?

Bluebell feels even more self conscious when Master Oakenshield turns to face her again and those stunning eyes look her over. The disinterest in them does not bode well.

"No," he replies, simple and short.

She is beginning to suspect that Master Oakenshield might not be rude so much as he is incredibly blunt.

The polite thing to do would be to accept his refusal and change the topic. Except Bluebell very much want to know why he has has refused. Depending on his answer, there might be a chance to sway his mind.

For a moment, she struggles between decency and desire.

The desire wins out.

"If I may be so bold to ask, why not?"

"I do not find you attractive." His explanation makes her relax. While Master Oakenshield is still distractingly gorgeous, this erases any desire to sway his mind. There is nothing as horrible as being intimate with one who doesn't desire you back.

"Fair enough," she tells him with a smile, and returns her own gaze to their surroundings. Now that she knows she has no chance with him, Bluebell is finally able to say goodbye to her home.

The Brandywine River gleams like silver in the moonlight, a picture she will never tire of. The shore is dotted by warm lights, different homes offering welcome and sanctuary to any who might need it. She can make out the shadow of the market in the distance, empty now, but ready to be filled with gossip and haggling come morning. Past that are the trees that form the boundary between Hobbiton and Tuckburough, though the darkness prevents her from seeing them. She doesn't need to see them, knows them as well as she knows Bag End.

She remembers all the joy she has experienced here. The parties that need but the barest of excuses to be thrown, the gossip that never stops. The wonderful times with family and friends. Aunt Mirabella's delight in encouraging mischievousness, dear Lobelia's hilarious denials whenever she tries and fails to take of with some of her silverware, the adorable courtship blossoming between Primula and Drogo.

She is going to miss her home.

When she finally feels ready to leave her home behind, Bluebell puts out her pipe and smiles at Master Oakenshield. "I believe I will retire. We're to leave quite early, after all. I do hope you find your accommodations satisfactory, though if not, please don't hesitate to call upon me," she reminds him. When she tried to ensure his needs were met earlier, he'd dismissed her concerns and ordered her to take care of the others instead.

Master Oakenshield does her the courtesy of facing her when he replies. "They are more than adequate," he says, making her feel a warm glow of accomplishment. "My thanks for your hospitality, Mistress Baggins."

Bluebell's smile grows. It seems she truly has misjudged him after all.

"You are most welcome, Master Oakenshield," she replies, before giving him a nod of farewell. "I bid you goodnight and pleasant dreams."

"And to you as well," he returns with lips twitching in the shadow of a smile, the sight momentarily stealing her breath. Bluebell awkwardly clears her throat, before deciding that silence is the better part of valor. She gives him a final smile and goes inside.

Tomorrow she'll set out on what she already knows will be the greatest adventure she will ever experience. But tonight, she will enjoy the comforts of home for as long as she still can.

...And perhaps she will enjoy herself by thinking of what might have happened had the breathtaking Master Oakenshield said yes to her invitation. Quietly of course, she cannot disturb her guests.

It might not be wise to think of Master Oakenshield that way, given that she will be spending the foreseeable future in close quarters with him, but Bluebell feels that it'll be worth the upcoming awkwardness she will feel in his presence. After all, she most likely won't have another chance for anything of this sort, the road is no place for things like this.

Bluebell is determined to enjoy this adventure to the fullest.

It only makes sense to start doing so right now.


	3. Chapter 3

To Bluebell’s great surprise, she is expected to travel _by pony_.

Bluebell has never ridden any sort of animal in her entire life. Her own two feet are more than enough to carry her wherever she wishes to go. Why, traveling by carriage is bad enough already, but traveling on top of a living, breathing animal that makes decisions entirely independent from herself? The idea alone fills her with dread.

...Only, this adventure will take her a great deal further than she has ever gone before. She supposes that traveling by pony is the sensible thing to do. No matter that Hobbit feet aren’t meant to leave the ground.

At least she knows how she is supposed to ride a pony in theory.

With great reluctance, she mounts her pony, named Myrtle. After Myrtle takes but one step, Bluebell is already regretting that decision. Every step afterwards only makes that regret grow.

Myrtle’s movements makes her sway as though she is on a boat, except this is even worse than boating because her feet aren’t touching _anything_. There’s not even an illusion of solid ground as there is on boats and carriages! Not to mention it is most uncomfortable to straddle something so wide, and soon the saddle starts to chafe as well! A slow growing burn that makes her wince whenever Myrtle makes an unexpected move. And Myrtle makes a great many unexpected moves, halting without warning to nibble on grass, shaking her head with enough force that Bluebell fears she’ll fall off, and that is all before their path takes them uphill. When they start to climb, Myrtle’s already unsteady gait becomes even more forceful, as well as more unpredictable.

Riding a pony is _awful_.

But Bluebell grits her teeth and bears it. Bemoaning things won’t change anything, and she must get used to this. And, she will admit to herself, Master Oakenshield's derision of her skills plays a part in her refusal to voice her complaints as well.

He has the nerve to think she won’t last even a week on the road. She is determined to show him just he wrong he is.

Bluebell tries to distract herself from the awfulness of riding by conversing with the others. More specifically, with Masters Fili and Kili.

This turns out to be a mistake.

“So what do you find so attractive about Thorin?” Master Kili’s question, though spoken with what seems to be nothing more than simple curiosity, still makes a surge of embarrassment rise, and Bluebell can’t help but glance at Master Oakenshield, riding up front. The way his magnificent curls catch in the wind makes part of her want to sigh like the moonstruck tween she seems to have turned into.

Most of her wants to sink into the ground as the fantasy she enjoyed last night comes back in vivid detail.

“That is quite the personal question, Master Kili,” she replies while doing her best to push those wholly inappropriate images out of her mind. She knew that indulgent was going to make things uncomfortable.

She doesn’t regret it in the slightest.

“Personal?” Master Kili returns, his relatively little facial hair making his amusement clear to read, even without adding in the tone of his voice. “You told everyone you find him _astonishingly attractive_ ,” he quotes in a poor imitation of her own voice.

Bluebell winces at the reminder of her awful first impression. “That was incredibly rude of me, I should never have said that.” To spell it out in such a blunt fashion? Worse, to have it follow on the heels of her indecent proposal?

The memory will mortify her to the end of days.

“What’s so rude about it?” Master Fili asks, and while his confusion seems honest, the question still sounds ridiculous to hear, no matter that she knows it shouldn’t. Dwarves hold very different ideas on what constitutes as rudeness than Hobbits do.

“One does not simply talk about these things,” she explains.

“What, Hobbits never tell someone they’re pretty?” Master Kili asks as though the very notion is absurd. Which it is.

“Of course we do. But we don’t say that we are… physically attracted to someone like that,” she says far too awkwardly while sneaking another glance at Master Oakenshield. She’s glad that he doesn’t seem to be paying them any attention, listening to whatever Master Balin is saying instead. Though she can’t make out what they are talking about over the sounds of the various other conversations filling the air.

“That’s not the impression you gave last night,” Master Fili says with a smirk. Bluebell manages to give an awkward smile back.

“Yes, well, as I have already mentioned, I have a tendency to blurt out my thoughts, no matter how inappropriate they might be. It’s led to quite the number of embarrassing situations.” Most of which she managed to find the humor in later, but a few times… well, she doesn’t like to think of those times. At all.

Like the awful first impression she made on Master Oakenshield.

“But what do you find so attractive about him?” Master Kili asks with a nod towards Master Oakenshield. This time Bluebell sneaks a much longer glance. Looks at his beautiful curls, his striking profile as he turns to say something to Master Balin, the way his body so effortlessly moves with the rhythm of his pony, making her wonder how well he would follow another kind of rhythm–

She needs to stop thinking about this.

”It’s not like he’s handsome.”

Master Kili’s matter of fact statement makes her snap her gaze towards him with incredulity, and she opens her mouth to point out just how ridiculous that sentence is– she closes it with startled realization. While it is true that Master Oakenshield is the most stunning male she has ever seen, it’s also true that her own tastes are quite odd for a Hobbit, more in line with those of Men than anything else. And while she is certain that most Men would consider Master Oakenshield to be incredibly handsome as well, she cannot say the same for Dwarves.

In fact, she is unsure what Dwarves consider to be attractive, aside from possessing a great amount of facial hair. It has never come up in her conversations with them.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Master Fili says in a voice dry as dust.

“Kettle, meet cauldron,” Master Kili returns without missing a beat. Bluebell smiles, their banter making her embarrassment fade and amusement rising instead.

“All three of you are ugly buggers, just leave it at that,” Master Gloin grumbles from behind them, startling Bluebell into trying to turn towards him.

She almost slides right off the saddle, barely manages to catch herself in time. Bluebell winces as she straightens back up. Truly, her buttocks will be chafed raw by the time evening falls.

“Not to Hobbits,” Master Kili says while giving her a charming smile.

“I fear that isn’t quite true, Master Kili,” she tells him with an apologetic look, for no one likes to hear that they... aren't considered to be attractive by conventional standards. “Generally speaking, Hobbits prefer big feet, big bellies, chubby cheeks, lush curls, and no facial hair.”

“That doesn’t exactly describe Thorin,” Master Fili points out. Bluebell gives an agreeing nod.

“No, it doesn’t. But when it comes to physical appeal, I have rather odd tastes for the most part,” she admits. While there are certain things one does not speak about, general conversation over what one finds attractive is quite alright. Why, it’s one of the most popular forms of gossip. It’s also alright to talk about a specific person and the particular features one finds attractive, as long as there is no chance of them overhearing.

As for telling someone they find them attractive directly, well. The circumstances where that is considered appropriate are a very private affair.

“Now why does that sound familiar,” Master Fili says with a wry glance at his brother, making Bluebell blink with surprise. Master Kili has odd tastes as well? For a Dwarf, she means.

Master Kili ignores the teasing with the ease of one who has heard similar things for a very long time. “So Hobbits think curls are pretty?” he asks, and Bluebell can’t help but look at Master Oakenshield’s magnificent mane with longing.

“Oh yes, we most certainly do.” What she wouldn’t give to run her hands through those gorgeous strands. Most of her tastes might be unusual, but in this she is exceedingly usual. No Hobbit would ever deny that Master Oakenshield has the most beautiful hair. Though most would also find the cut to be far too long for a male.

Bluebell thinks the length is just _perfect_.

“Kind of makes you wish you could run your hands through them, doesn't it?”

Master Fili’s sly question makes her snap her head towards him with shock, before she feels a surge of embarrassment as she realizes how obvious her desire apparently is.

“Or see it cling to his skin after a wild tumble between the sheets,” Master Kili adds cheerfully, making Bluebell’s jaw drop at that… that shamelessly indecent statement!

“Why I would never– I mean, of course I would like to see– this is _not_ an appropriate way to talk about this!” she squeaks, and while part of her is embarrassed by that, most of her is simply glad that she managed to cut herself off before she could mortify herself more than she already has.

Masters Fili and Kili look at each other with identical grins, causing sudden dread to rise. Even seeing it on Dwarven faces, she knows that grin. It’s one she has even indulged in herself a few times.

That is the grin Tooks wear when they’re about to be particularly obnoxious.

Her assumption turns out to be entirely correct. Masters Fili and Kili continue to tease her about her attraction to Master Oakenshield, and the more she pleads with them to stop, the cruder they become. Even explaining that talking about this particular subject in this manner is considered to be _most_ rude by Hobbits doesn’t stop them. So she carefully tugs at Myrtle’s reigns to fall back a little, just enough that she is no longer riding near Masters Fili and Kili.

Masters Fili and Kili follow her.

Bluebell wavers on whether to ask Master Oakenshield for help or not. On one hand, he is their leader. Surely he will put a stop to this if she asks? On the other hand, his already low opinion of her will most likely drop even further if she requires him to interfere.

She decides to ask Gandalf for help instead.

Gandalf does not help.

“They’re simply having a bit of fun, my dear,” he tells her with a merry smile. In her current mood, the sight is most vexing.

“It might for them, but it isn’t fun for me in the slightest,” she snaps while giving the grinning children next to her an annoyed glare.

“You’d rather have fun with Thorin, right?” Master Kili asks, and while the question is fairly innocent compared to many of the other things he has already said, it still causes another surge of embarrassment.

“Gandalf, make them stop!” she admittedly whines, but she is so fed up with this awful situation that she cares not one bit.

“I’m afraid that trying to stop a Dwarf from being candid is an exercise in futility. They’re a rather straightforward folk,” Gandalf replies as though this excuses their behavior.

It doesn’t.

“There is a great difference between being candid and being inconsiderate of others,” she snaps with another glare at the grinning children.

“You hear that, Fili? She thinks we’re inconsiderate,” Master Kili says much too cheerfully.

“And here we gave you advice on how to ride your pony,” Master Fili reminds her, which, well.

“I am most grateful for your advice,” she tells them truthfully, for it was indeed incredibly helpful. Blubell is certain that without it, she would’ve fallen off Myrtle at least once by now.

For some reason, her words causes Master Fili to shake his head with bemusement, while Master Kili chuckles.

“But your _teasing_ ,” she emphasizes to show that she doesn’t consider it to be mere teasing in the slightest. “–is not only rude and unwelcome, it is _annoying_.” And embarrassing. And vexing. And a great many other things, none of which are positive.

Once again, her words fail to have their intended effect. Instead, Master Fili and Kili actually seem proud.

They really are Tooks. The absolute worst kind.

“So you don’t want to see Thorin nak–”

“I most certainly do,” she interrupts Master Kili before he can finish that outrageous question. Then Gandalf laughs, and Bluebell closes her eyes with utter mortification as she realizes what she just said. She quickly opens them again as Myrtle shakes her head, embarrassment momentarily forgotten as she concentrates on staying seated. Even so, she sees Masters Fili and Kili grinning with glee.

They’re never going to stop, are they?

No, they aren’t. She finds no help from anyone else, either. When she repeats her plea to Gandalf, he merely smiles and tells that she must learn to handle this “teasing” if she is to make it through their adventure. As for the others, they do nothing but join in on the inappropriate topic when she approaches them for help. They don’t truly join in on the teasing, aside from Master Nori, but they ask her unbelievably personal questions, or make outrageous observations in the most unseemly of ways. Masters Gloin and Bombur most of all.

Master Gloin, in response to further impudent questions from Masters Fili and Kili, launches into a shameless and shockingly detailed description of what his wife looks like without clothes, and even more shocking descriptions of what she enjoys when being intimate!

Bluebell flees the conversation as quickly as Myrtle allows, and joins Master Bombur in the hopes that they might converse about something, anything else. Like cooking.

Her plan is ruined when Masters Fili and Kili follow her yet again and continue their pestering. Which they do by asking Master Bombur after his own wife. And Master Bombur, without a hint of shame, launches into an even more detailed description than Master Gloin did!

Bluebell is fiercely glad that this topic has never come up in her previous conversations with Dwarves. She had no idea they were this indecent about it!

Though it is interesting to learn that, aside from having a great amount of facial hair, Dwarves consider big noses and bushy eyebrows to be the things that determine whether a person is attractive or not. Also the shape of one’s hands, the width of their torso, and the thickness of their calves and forearms. They also find ginger to be the most beautiful hair color of all.

According to those standards, Master Oakenshield, and Masters Fili and Kili, are indeed not the most attractive of people. For the most part. Master Oakenshield’s hands are apparently quite striking.

Bluebell would love to have those strong hands explore every part of her.

She would love even more for Masters Fili and Kili to _stop talking about this_. They've taken it far beyond what even the most outrageous Took would ever do. Worst of all, Master Oakenshield lets them! True, she hasn't asked him for help, but it is obvious to everyone that she is _incredibly_ uncomfortable with Masters Fili's and Kili's actions. Why doesn't he put a stop to this?

By the time evening falls and they make camp, Bluebell is tired, has lost what feels like all the skin on her buttocks, and is so fed up with the _teasing_ that she decides to throw out all sense of decorum.

If Masters Fili and Kili wish to act like obnoxious pests, she will treat them as such.

“Would you be interested in joining me for a demonstration of my fighting skills, Master Fili?” she asks with the poisonous sweet smile she learned from Lobelia.

Master Fili raises a brow without a single sign of wariness. Apparently he is unaware of what her smile means. Excellent.

He shrugs. “Why not.”

“Careful you don’t break her,” Master Kili says, amused, and Bluebell barely resists the urge to reveal her intentions by letting a wicked grin break through.

As she and Master Fili take up position, the others gather around to watch. Including Master Oakenshield, but Bluebell is so vexed by the unending harassment that she isn’t even distracted by having those stunning eyes pin her down.

She draws one of her swords, Master Fili doing the same.

“Read–” Bluebell darts forward before Master Fili can finish his question, raising her sword as though to attack and making Master Fili’s gaze snap towards her arm while raising his own blade to block–

Bluebell kicks him right in his unmentionables.

Every Hobbit knows their feet are exceedingly strong, but it wasn’t until she started adventuring that she discovered just how great the difference with those of other folk is. She also learned that other folk never expect a Hobbit’s kick to hurt.

Proving this assumption wrong is one of the most effective tricks she has for creating an opening to escape.

Master Fili drops his sword and falls to his knees with a pained whimper, gently cradling his privates. Bluebell looks down at him with satisfaction.

Lets see him try to _tease_ her again after this.

The silence is broken by Master Bofur's laughter, and as though that was the sign they were waiting for, the others join in, drawing her attention away from Master Fili.

Bluebell feels all the breath escape her as she sees Master Oakenshield, wearing a small smile that steals her every thought.

She could watch him smile to the end of days without a single regret.

“–was brilliant!”

Bluebell blinks as the words break the spell she is under. Well, that, and Master Oakenshield’s smile has faded. Though he still seems to hold a vague sense of bemusement, the blue of his eyes gleaming with what she believes to be a touch of humor in the most mesmerizing of ways.

“You should see the look on your face,” Master Kili says, his delight easily heard over the continued laughter of the others. Bluebell remembers her plan.

She summons another sweet smile. “Would you care to be my next opponent, Master Kili?”

Her question abruptly makes the laughter die down, but only so all can watch Master Kili with gleeful expectation.

Master Kili himself has gained a look of alarm. “No, that isn’t necessary. Fili can still continue,” he declares in a firm voice.

Unfortunately for him, Master Fili disagrees. “No, great idea. You should definitely take on Kili next,” he says while getting to his feet with a grimace.

“You really shouldn’t,” Master Kili counters most earnestly. “This was a great demonstration, everyone knows you can fight now.”

Bluebell puts on her best innocent expression. It’s a very good one, if she does say so herself. She inherited from Father, and Father was a Baggins through and through. When he wore an innocent expression, it was always as sincere as it looked.

Mother found it delightful to see her use the same expression to cover up Took mischievousness.

“One can hardly call a single demonstration great, especially when my opponent was taken by surprise. No, I think it most wise to have another demonstration with you. To prove it was not mere luck, you see.”

“She’s got a point,” Master Nori agrees with a grin, Master Bifur besides him giving an enthusiastic nod. The others offer various forms of their own agreement as well, while Master Oakenshield’s eyes continue to gleam in the most mesmerizing of ways.

As for Gandalf, he is watching her with a mixture of pride and the kind of affection she best remembers seeing aimed at Mother. Bluebell feels a warm glow grow in response, though she doesn’t allow it to distract her from her plan.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Master Kili repeats more insistent than before.

“What’s the matter, lad. You scared?” Master Dwalin challenges, making Master Kili straighten with offense.

That offense disappears when Master Fili sits down next to him with a wince.

“I’m not scared,” Master Kili says while looking at his brother with concern. A concern that is clearly aimed more at himself than Master Fili.

“Then get to it,” Master Dwalin orders with a grin.

Master Kili wavers, before he glances at Master Oakenshield. Who does nothing but raise a single brow in return, but that is enough to make Master Kili’s shoulders slump with defeat. Excellent.

Master Kili takes up position. Unlike Master Fili, he is showing a great many signs of wariness. Seeing as she won’t be able to catch him off guard as she did with Master Fili, Bluebell lifts her sword in a defensive position and waits.

She doesn’t have to wait long. The moment Master Kili realizes that she won’t attack first, he goes on the offensive himself. Forcefully so.

Bluebell forgets all about their audience as she concentrates on dodging and deflecting his blows. Master Kili is _good_ , quite possibly the best she has ever practiced with. He is also holding back, as becomes clear when he throws a punch at a speed and angle she won’t be able to dodge.

Just as Bluebell realizes that she is going to be hit, he pulls his punch enough that she is able to slip underneath it by the skin of her teeth.

Well. Bluebell certainly isn’t going to tell him to stop holding back. Repeating a trick when her opponent knows it’s coming is difficult enough already, and if this was a real fight, she would never even try to do so. But this isn’t a real fight.

This is teaching a lesson to two obnoxious children on the consequences of being inconsiderate of other people’s feelings.

It takes a little longer, but Bluebell finally spots the opening she needs. She throws the handful of dirt she managed to grab earlier into Master Kili’s face, and when he closes his eyes on instinct, Bluebell kicks him right in the privates as well.

Just like Master Fili, Master Kili falls to his knees with a whimper, to the appreciative cheers of their spectators. Bluebell is quite pleased with herself.

“Mahal, what are Hobbit feet made of? Mithril?” Master Kili asks in a pained voice. Bluebell gives him a satisfied smile.

“Our feet are perfectly normal, Master Kili. It’s everyone else who has absurdly fragile feet.”

“My turn!”

Bluebell’s gaze snaps towards Master Dwalin at his unexpected and gleeful exclamation, before she is scrambling away as fast she can as he charges her with a terrifying roar, an axe lifted to attack. Unfortunately, his longer legs let him catch up to her before she can make an escape.

Bluebell forgets all about her surroundings as she tries her best to defend herself against the onslaught. A vague part of her is aware that this isn’t a real fight, seeing as she is never hit with anything other than the flat of the blade and open palm strikes instead of punches.

Most of her is working on pure instinct. She pulls out every trick she has to to escape yet is foiled every single time, making blind panic start to rise. When she is disarmed and barely manages to draw her spare sword in time to deflect another blow, Bluebell loses all sense of rationality.

She needs to get out of here _right now_.

Bluebell fights with increasing desperation, but even when kicking every part she can and throwing everything within reach, even when biting as hard she can into the hand passing in front of her nose, she doesn’t manage to get away!

When she is suddenly caged within thick arms and _lifted from the ground_ , Bluebell acts entirely without thought.

She performs a headbutt.

She regrets that. Oh, how she regrets that. Hobbit feet are exceedingly strong, Hobbit heads? Not so much.

Over the pounding of her head, Bluebell hears the sound of laughter. Which helps her remember where she is and who she is fighting against. It also makes her realize that her eyes are closed.

When she opens them, she sees Master Dwalin’s grinning face right in front of her. He appears entirely unaffected by her headbutt. Which makes sense, seeing as Bluebell is now convinced that his own head is made out of solid rock.

“Not bad, lass. Not bad at all,” he compliments, but Bluebell is much more focused on the fact that her feet are still off the ground.

“Thank you, Master Dwalin. Could you put me down now, please?” she asks, her voice coming out more tentative than intended. She is blaming that on still being dazed from smashing her head against the rock masquerading as a Dwarven head.

With a chuckle, Master Dwalin complies. Bluebell lets out a great sigh of relief as she feels the comfort of the earth again, digging her toes into the dirt with relish. Her head is still pounding and she is aching in various places from the hits she wasn’t able to dodge, but she is already feeling much better now that she is back on solid ground.

Master Dwalin claps her shoulder with enough force that she almost falls over, her pounding head almost preventing her from catching her footing in time.

“You might be able to survive the wilds after all.” He sounds genuinely surprised by this.

Really, do all these Dwarves think her some fragile flower that only survived through blind luck? Not that luck hasn’t often aided her, but hard earned skill is what has saved her life the most.

Bluebell risks another glance at Master Oakenshield. It turns out that he was looking at her as well, and as she meets the unending blue of his gaze, he inclines his head the slightest bit. She… thinks that gesture is a positive acknowledgement of her fighting skills.

Bluebell averts her gaze as she feels herself light up with ridiculous giddiness. For goodness sake, she isn’t even certain that nod was meant as a compliment!

The rest of the evening goes by much more pleasantly. Her lesson seems to have done the trick, for Masters Fili and Kili _finally_ halt their teasing. Bluebell, despite her various aches, goes to sleep with a smile.

The next day, she does feel a little embarrassed by her retaliation. She doesn’t regret it, but in hindsight, she might've overreacted a bit. If she could do it over, she wouldn’t have kicked them in their unmentionables.

She would’ve kicked them in the shins instead.

But the past can’t be changed, so instead of dwelling on what she wishes to have done differently,  she apologizes to Masters Fili and Kili for the pain she caused them.

“What’re you apologizing for?” Master Bofur asks from behind them, and this time Bluebell manages to resist the urge to try to turn around in the saddle. Her buttocks are incredibly grateful for that restraint. “The lads deserved it.”

While Bluebell won’t deny that they most certainly did deserve it, she still feels a little uncomfortable with her actions. Or rather, the viciousness of them.

“Nevertheless, I still wish to apologize,” she repeats with an apologetic look at Masters Fili and Kili.

Master Fili gives his usual smirk in return. By now, she is fairly certain that is his version of a friendly smile. Bluebell is relieved that he doesn’t seem to hold any hard feelings over her actions.

But then, Dwarves are a very rowdy people. They do not think of violence in the same way Hobbits do.

“Don’t,” he says, casual and hopefully sincere. “Bofur’s right, we deserved it.”

“Worth it to watch you squirm, though,” Master Kili adds with a playful smile, making her narrow her eyes.

She puts on her most polite smile. “Yes, well, rest assured, I won’t overreact like that again. I have already thought of a number of much better alternatives.” She is quite gratified that earns her two simultaneous looks of wariness. “Of course, I am certain that there will be no need for me to ever use those alternatives. Will there, Master Fili, Master Kili?”

“Right, no need at all,” Master Fili confirms, while Master Kili gives an earnest nod.

"None whatsoever," he adds. Bluebell gives them her sweetest smile.

“That is truly wonderful to hear.”

“Is it just me, or does that smile not mean what we thought it did?” Master Kili asks without taking wary eyes off her.

“You mean, does it hide a dire warning beneath an illusion of friendliness?” Master Fili replies, also without taking his eyes off her.

“I was going for, masks a sense of vengeance with false innocence, but that works, too.”

At least they no longer seem to think her a fragile flower.

“Still worth it to watch you squirm, though. Just this once,” Master Kili finishes with another playful smile, and Bluebell can’t help but let out an amused huff.

“Yes, well. Please do not let it happen again.”

“We'll do our best to resist temptation,” Master Fili delivers with a most solemn look. Bluebell chuckles.

When they’re not acting like obnoxious children, Masters Fili and Kili are quite fun to be around.

They’re not the only ones. All these Dwarves are delightful.

Master Bofur is a lovely conversationalist, and every day he sings the most merry of songs, so charming it always brightens her mood. Master Bombur turns out to be rather shy, but he is always willing to talk about food and family, two topics every Hobbit can appreciate. Master Bofur is harder to communicate with, given the language he speaks in, but Bluebell loves sitting besides him in the evening and watch him carve the most delicate of toys out of wood. Sometimes Master Bofur joins his brother in carving, and Bluebell is unable to decide who she loves watching more.

She also loves watching watching Masters Dori and Nori in the mornings, when they shape their hair with breathtaking skill and dexterity. The others redo their braids every morning as well, but the hairstyles of Masters Dori and Nori are the most complex by far. Even with their skill, they take the longest of all to finish. Not that she is complaining.

It allows her to watch Master Oakenshield weave those gorgeous curls first, hands quick and clever in a way one would never expect from their size, making it impossible to keep her thoughts from straying towards very inappropriate thoughts. But he is also always the first to finish, so she can still enjoy the magical sight of Masters Dori and Nori transforming their loose hair into their usual works of art.

Master Ori’s own braids are far more subtle, but they are incredibly complex as well, and he spends almost as much time on them as his brothers. He also turns out to be a lover of books, and while there isn’t much overlap between the ones they’ve read, the few they do share in common lead to delightful discussions of their content.

Master Oin and Gloin are the least sociable of their group, preferring to spend most of their time together. Even so, she has some very interesting discussions with Master Oin on the topic of medicine. It turns out that Master Oin is a healer by trade, and his knowledge far outstrips her own. Bluebell learns quite a number of useful things from him.

Master Gloin is the most difficult to converse with, for he seems to take offense at the most innocent of things. But when she asks him after his family, he lights up with joy and tells her all about his beautiful wife and son. How clever and talented they are, how his wife forges the most beautiful of armour and of course he's wearing it, can she not see the breathtaking amount of detail his wife has woven in, the perfection found in every angle? And his son, oh, his wee lad, a bare six decades old and already an exceptional warrior, fighting with stunning grace and capable of defeating Dwarves near twice his age!

Hearing him speak of his family with such pride is truly touching.

Master Balin, in opposition of Oin and Gloin, is the most sociable of their group, even more so than Bofur. He wanders from person to person and is always a delight to talk to. He also tells the most wonderful of stories, weaving words with such vivid detail that she can see the images unfold right in front of her eyes.

As for Master Dwalin, he turns out to possess a positively wicked sense of vengeance. When Master Nori, who enjoys sneaking up on others and is quite good at it for a Dwarf, succeeds in startling Master Dwalin, Master Dwalin retaliates the next morning by dumping a pot of frigid water on his head in order to wake him up.

It makes for quite the hilarious sight to see Master Nori look like a drowned cat. He acts like one, too, indignant in a way that makes it impossible to contain her giggles. Though she does feel some concern when Master Nori takes his own vengeance by adding far too much salt to Master Dwalin’s dinner. She fears the minor squabble will escalate to something greater, but Master Oakenshield interferes before it can come to that.

He interferes by giving Master Nori a blistering tongue lashing on the irresponsible wasting of food on such a petty whim. While Bluebell does understand the sentiment, given that food is even more precious than usual on an adventure, the harshness of his words still makes her uncomfortable, no matter that they aren’t aimed at her.

Poor Master Nori retreats for the rest of the evening, embarrassed and ashamed, snapping at any that approaches. Only Master Ori is allowed near him, even Master Dori is treated with the same prickliness as the others.

Master Oakenshield, it turns out, is not the easiest of persons to get along with. Quite the opposite, in fact. He is a harsh and demanding taskmaster, making them keep up a strict pace, never allowing their breaks to go on longer than intended, and expecting nothing short of perfection from them all.

Well, that last isn’t quite true. If someone makes a mistake, Master Oakenshield will either explain the correct way to do things, or watch as another does it instead, only interfering if he feels his own explanation would better solve the problem. But make the same mistake twice, and he radiates such disapproval it makes one feel like a clumsy child. He will still explain what one should’ve done instead, but it will be delivered much harsher than before, and he will not allow another to do it in his stead. Dare to make the same mistake thrice, and be prepared to receive a tongue lashing so severe it is enough to leave one near tears. As she herself is unfortunate enough to find out when she saddles Myrtle incorrectly for the third time.

For the entire day afterwards, Bluebell is unable to look at Master Oakenshield without being overwhelmed by shame. She makes sure she never saddles Myrtle incorrectly again. She's also incredibly grateful for her previous experience on the road, for without it, she is certain that she would’ve been subjected to a great many more tongue lashings than just the one.

But while Master Oakenshield is incredibly demanding, she can feel no resentment over it. Not when he demands more from himself than he does from anyone else.

Master Oakenshield is the first to perform any task that needs to be done, from caring for their ponies, to breaking up camp, and everything in between. And whenever he finishes his own tasks, he always goes to help one of them with their own.

In fact, is seems to her that Master Oakenshield never relaxes. When evening falls and all possible tasks have been completed, he doesn't fill his free time with leisure activities as the others do. Instead, he keeps watch until they settle down for the night and another takes over.

It doesn’t take long before Bluebell starts becoming truly concerned. Every Hobbit knows it isn’t healthy to keep working without breaks. She is, however, a little hesitant to bring up this fact with Master Oakenshield himself. She will if she must of course, but Master Oakenshield doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate being told that, for the sake of his health, he should really slow down a bit and enjoy himself a little more.

Bluebell decides to ask Dwalin, all formalities except those towards Master Oakenshield having been dropped by now, for advice before she does anything else. He and Balin seem closest to Master Oakenshield.

“He’s fine, lass,” Dwalin assures her, casual and unconcerned. “Taking things a lot more easy than expected.”

“We are taking things easy?” she returns, incredulous. She thought they were positively racing.

Dwalin nods. “Aye, doesn’t make sense to waste our strength hurrying. That Dragon isn’t going anywhere,” he says, completely missing her point. Still, the fact that they are moving at what Master Oakenshield apparently considers to be a leisurely pace, doesn’t change the fact that he never seems to relax.

“He always seems to be working, though,” she returns to the previous topic. “Doesn’t he ever stop?” she asks while sneaking a glance at Master Oakenshield. He doesn’t seem to be following their conversation, but by now Bluebell knows that doesn’t mean much. Master Oakenshield has the remarkable ability to keep track of every single one of them, no matter what they are doing and despite constantly being busy himself.

“He stops after we finish making camp,” Dwalin delivers with a raised brow she knows to mean bemusement by now.

“Does he, though? He still keeps watch,” she counters. Master Oakenshield isn’t unapproachable when he is on watch, or any other moment really, as long as one is careful to avoid interfering with whatever task he is busy with. But he rarely joins them in conversation without prompting.

Dwalin gives a wry smile. “Watch his shoulders.”

Bluebell frowns with confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

Before she can ask, Dwalin taps Daisy’s flanks and joins Master Oakenshield up front.

Bluebell, though she doesn’t really understand what she is supposed to be looking for, takes Dwalin’s advice and watches Master Oakenshield’s shoulders. She also does her best not to be distracted by wondering what those shoulders would look like without the layers of cloth and armour, what it would feel like to hold them while–

No matter how much time passes, she remains absolutely atrocious at controlling her thoughts when it comes to Master Oakenshield.

At first, nothing about Master Oakenshield’s shoulders stands out. Well, nothing beyond the usual. But after evening falls and they finish making camp, she thinks she spots what Dwalin wanted her to see.

After settling down to keep watch, Master Oakenshield holds his shoulders differently. His entire body, actually, but it’s easiest to spot the difference in his shoulders. Even then, the change is incredibly subtle. Bluebell doesn’t understand what this difference is supposed to mean, though.

When she asks Dwalin for an explanation the next day, he merely grins and tells her she’ll figure it out soon. More specifically, she should figure it out two days from now. Because that's when he bet with Balin that she would figure it out.

Bluebell feels a little embarrassed when Nori jumps in the conversation and adds his own bet. Loudly so. Which causes the rest of these gambling loving Dwarves to add their own bets as well.

Bluebell is most grateful that Master Oakenshield makes no remark over the fact that she is encouraged by all to spy on him. She is certain that she would’ve lost her nerve to do so if he had. The disadvantages of being a moonstruck tween.

On the third night, she thinks she figures out what the difference means.

Bofur is singing another merry song, and most Dwarves have joined in with great enthusiasm. Bluebell doesn’t know the words, but the tune is simple enough, and she is humming along when she sneaks another glance at Master Oakenshield.

Master Oakenshield is tapping his feet to the beat. This is one of the few, and by far the easiest way to determine whether he is in a good mood or not.

Oh. That is what Dwalin meant.

Master Oakenshield, despite being on watch, is also relaxing. By watching them have fun.

At least, that is what she thinks is happening. To be certain, she watches him closely the next three days as well. More closely than usual, she means.

She wasn’t wrong, he truly does relax in the evening. But that isn’t what the change in posture means.

Master Oakenshield doesn’t merely enjoy watching them have fun, it makes him _content_. A quiet happiness that, once she learns to spot it, is impossible to miss. It’s not merely during the evening that it happens, either, she catches glimpses of it during the day as well. When Fili and Kili laugh, or when a good natured argument starts between Gloin and Dwalin. When Bombur talks about his family, when Master Ori proudly shows off the rabbits he caught.

He doesn’t show it for her or Gandalf. This happiness, this quiet yet fierce joy, is reserved only for his own people.

Part of her is disappointed that she can’t inspire the same kind of joy. Mostly it just causes her crush on him to grow even bigger.

Master Oakenshield loves his people. Their happiness inspires his own in return, their joy makes him content as nothing else does.

No wonder he is so beloved by his people in return.

Because the others do love him. It's clear in the way all rise to meet his high expectations, how they try their best to go beyond them in an effort to make him proud. It shows in the way they light up when earning a rare word of praise.

Bluebell no longer feels embarrassed over her crush. While the others aren’t attracted to Master Oakenshield in the same way she is, they are all crushing on him nonetheless. The only exception is Gandalf, and even he is most fond of Master Oakenshield, despite their frequent contests of who can out stubborn the other.

A week after Dwalin told her to start watching Master Oakenshield, Bluebell feels confident enough to share her conclusion of what the change in posture means.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles, but Bluebell knows the annoyance isn’t aimed at her.

It’s aimed at the fact that he didn’t win the wager. Bombur and Dori did.

Or rather, they think they did.

“Actually, I first assumed that it was a sign of general relaxation. I only began to suspect that it was a sign of happiness specifically two days ago,” she clarifies for the sake of fairness. It would be most dishonest not to give them all the relevant facts, after all. “It wasn’t until yesterday that I felt confident enough to conclude that I was right. If I’m not mistaken, I believe that means Fili and Ori have won the wager.”

Bluebell watches with a grin as her statement sparks a heated argument on whether yesterday or the day before that counts as the definitive date that the wager was settled. Fili and Ori argue fiercely for the former, while Kili and Bofur argue with equal heat for the latter. The others all bet on different dates, but they happily add in their own opinions. Including Gandalf, though he only joins in right before the debate is settled, sparking a renewed round of arguing. When their eyes meet, he gives her a wink, most pleased with his own mischievousness.

Master Oakenshield, riding at the back, doesn’t join the debate, and he is too far away for her to make out whether his eyes hold a touch of humor or not. But he is showing that quiet contentedness now impossible to miss. Bluebell smiles.

This adventure is without a doubt one of the most delightful she has ever been on, and only a small part is because she is adventuring with Gandalf, something she never could have imagined before now.

It is not an easy adventure. The opposite, in fact. Even though the saddle no longer chafes her buttocks raw and she has learned to work with Myrtle’s character, Bluebell will never be comfortable with having her feet off the ground. Not to mention the challenging speed they need to move with and the proficiency demanded from all of them. Then there are the days where the weather is awful and puts them all in a bad mood, causing true arguments to erupt, no matter how briefly. Or the moments where one desperately longs for a kind of privacy incapable of being found when on the road, leaving one prickly and snappish. There is even less privacy than she is used to on an adventure, given the size of their group. But in the grand scheme of things, all these annoyances are minor. On the whole, Bluebell is having a marvelous time.

Bluebell knows that adventures are inherently dangerous and unpredictable, knows that things can go horribly wrong in the blink of an eye. But right now, it feels as though nothing is capable of ruining this wonderful experience.

* * *

 

The Mountain Trolls make her reconsider that opinion.


	4. Chapter 4

Bluebell did not think her plan through. She could blame this on her lack of sleep, having woken in fits and starts after Gandalf had argued with Master Oakenshield and left. Or she could blame it on the fact that she was incredibly distracted by seeing real Trolls. She could even blame it on her crush on Master Oakenshield and the subsequent desire to impress him.

Whatever the reason, the fact remains that she did not think her plan through.

It had seemed like a fairly simple matter to reclaim their ponies, as Fili and Kili had told her to do before they'd disappeared. Yes, if she was caught the consequences would be _most_ dire, but Bluebell was confident that she could avoid detection. And she was right, she did manage to avoid detection. Rather easily, too, if filled with nerve wracking tension. It was also a simple task to open the fence holding their ponies captive by cutting the rope.

Her mistake was in failing to think of what the ponies would do once the fence was open.

They bolted. That is something she really should have anticipated to happen.

What she could not have anticipated to happen, was for the ponies to charge through a bunch of bushes and for all the Dwarves to scramble out of them. She has no idea when they even arrived here, but she assumes that they scattered to avoid being trampled.

The problem is that this put them in sight of the Trolls.

Part of Bluebell is mentally kicking herself for what in hindsight was an unbelievably idiotic course of action. Another part is fretting madly on what to do next.

Most of her can only watch as the Dwarves fight the Trolls with breathtaking grace. She knew that Dwarves have a knack for working together, and she already saw a glimpse of what that could lead to in a group this size when they'd cleaned her dishes, but before now, she’s never seen more than three Dwarves fight together. She thought she would never see a display more skilled than that.

Watching thirteen Dwarves fight together makes that demonstration look child's play.

Bluebell’s eyes dart from one Dwarf to another, watching as Nori throws a blade at Bifur’s back and Bifur catches it without even looking, just in time to slash at an enormous hand reaching for him, in the same movement crouching down so Gloin can jump on his back and leap high enough to strike a Troll in the face just as Bombur rams one of the it’s legs, causing the Troll to stumble. When Dori smacks a bola against it’s back, the Troll falls to it’s knees, allowing Dwalin to smash his warhammer into it’s face with enough force to send several teeth flying.

Bluebell doesn’t dare to join in. She knows she’ll only get in the way if she does.

So she continues to watch from her place in the shadows, eyes unable to decide what part of this strange dance they should settle on.

Unsurprisingly, they decide to settle on Master Oakenshield. And Bluebell feels all the breath escape her as they do.

He is a whirl of motion and intent, not a single movement wasted, pure beauty and grace and _passion_. Magnificent curls flying through the air, expression fierce and determined, eyes burning with blue fire.

He has never looked more stunning. Not even his smiles can compare to the ferocity he now shows.

Bluebell is snapped out of her enthrallment by the voice of one of the Trolls.

“Drop your weapons or we rip it apart!”

Her gaze abruptly refocuses on the Trolls, and Bluebell sees with horror that two of them have somehow managed to capture Ori and are holding him up into the air in a way that leaves no doubt they mean their threat in the most literal sense possible.

“Ori!” The cries come from Nori and Dori, charging forward to try to save their brother, but they’re stopped by Dwalin, Oin and Gloin. The part of her not overwhelmed by horror is incredibly grateful for that, for she is certain that the Trolls would have ripped Ori apart had his brothers managed to come any closer.

Bluebell tries desperately to think of something, anything she can do to help Ori, but her mind keeps drawing a blank, not even a whisper of an idea showing itself.

Master Oakenshield apparently fails to think of something as well, for after a brief hesitation, he plants his sword in the ground. The others follow suit.

Bluebell realizes that she is manically wringing her hands together in her panic because she doesn’t know what to do, will only get herself killed if she shows herself now and that would offer no help whatsoever, and she never should’ve tried to reclaim their ponies on her own, should’ve gone to Master Oakenshield the moment they found the Trolls, how could she have been so stupid–

“Now take off your clothes.”

Bluebell’s thoughts screech to a halt. She must have misheard that.

“All of them, every single one.”

She did not mishear that. The Trolls really did order them to take off their clothes. Every single one of them.

Why in the world would they do that?

“Now, or we rip it apart!”

The repeated threat is enough to make Nori and Dori start frantically undressing while yelling at the others to do the same. But it’s not until Master Oakenshield takes off his coat that the others start undressing as well.

Bluebell’s fretting returns with a vengeance because she still has no idea what to do, can’t think of anything to help no matter how hard she tries, and this task has become even more difficult now because she is unable to tear her eyes away from Master Oakenshield as layer after layer comes off, revealing a mesmerizing amount of skin and for goodness sake, this is a life or death situation, all their lives are at risk, this is _really_ not the time to be distracted by the the corded strength of those arms, the play of muscles on his back, the dusting of dark hair trailing down, the delicious sight of two perfect globes as he takes off his underclothes–

Bluebell closes her eyes in an effort to snap herself out of her absurd state of mind, unable to believe that she can be distracted by Master Oakenshield’s physical appeal even at a time like this. Closing her eyes does help with the worst of it, but part of her is _still_ swooning at the images more delicious than any she ever could’ve imagined herself. That part is also urging her to open her eyes so she can confirm whether or not she really did spy actual dimples on that delectable backside, which would succeed in making the exquisite globes even more perfect.

Bluebell ignores that part of her with extreme prejudice and continues to try to think of ways to help everyone get out of the mess she created.

She fails yet again. She has no idea what to do, not against Trolls. They’re bigger and stronger than anything she has ever encountered before, and if there were only two or three Dwarves, she might be able to create a distraction that would allow them to flee, but there are thirteen of them, and Ori is still held captive, she can’t do anything as long as the Trolls are holding him hostage, except she has to do something, she _has_ to.

If any of them die here because of her mistake, she will never forgive herself.

“Put those in the sacks and tie them shut. Make sure they can’t wriggle out!”

The Troll’s words make her open her eyes and yes, those are indeed the most delectable of dimples, but most of her is focused on the Troll not holding Ori, now reaching for Master Oakenshield, and surely Master Oakenshield will fight back, except if he does he will be killed because how could he even fight without his weapons and oh that’s why the Trolls ordered them to undress, to make sure they are completely disarmed, quite clever really, and why is she impressed by this, she shouldn’t be impressed, she needs to help her friends!

She still has no idea how to do that.

Bluebell feels like she might burst out of her skin with pure panic as she watches the Troll put Master Oakenshield, Balin, Oin, Gloin, Kili and Bombur in burlap sacks  and tie them shut. Then it ties Fili, Bifur, Bofur, Dwalin, Dori and Nori to a pole, no, a _spit_ , because it places them above the fire like they are mere roast, which really shouldn’t be surprising seeing as the Trolls wish to eat them, except these Dwarves aren’t food, they’re her friends and she needs to help them!

The Trolls finally let go of Ori, but only so they can put him in a sack as well and throw him down with the others. Then the Trolls resume their previous bickering on the necessity of cooking. Unlike before, it isn’t funny in the slightest.

Not when they are talking about her friends.

Bluebell closes her eyes and takes calming breaths. She needs to get herself under control, she’s no use to anyone like this.

It takes a great amount of effort, but she manages to wrestle down her panic. Bluebell opens her eyes, full of determination.

She has a plan. It might not be a good one, might be too little too late, but it is far better than having no plan at all.

She can’t help those tied to the spit. Not without revealing herself to the Trolls, and that would defeat the entire point of trying to help them. She also can’t reclaim their weapons for the same reason, the Trolls have placed them too close to the fire.

What she can do, is free those trapped in the sacks.

Fraught with tension, Bluebell sneaks towards Master Oakenshield and the others. Most of them are yelling threats at the Trolls while struggling inside the cloth, but Master Oakenshield is trying to loosen the knot holding the sack closed by yanking at it with his teeth.

Bluebell sneaks up behind him, careful to stay out of sight of the Trolls. Who are completely ignoring the threats yelled at them.

She grasps Master Oakenshield’s shoulder and gestures at him to keep quiet as his gaze snaps towards her. He gives her a furious glare, more angry than she has ever seen him be, but under the circumstances, that is more than understandable. Her mistake is what put all of them in this awful situation in the first place.

Bluebell draws her sword and starts cutting through the rope holding him captive. Master Oakenshield, his glare gone, tilts his head to give her better access.

Bluebell works as fast she can. She could work faster if she were to ignore the Trolls completely, but the risk isn’t worth it. As is proven when one of the Trolls turns to look at them, and Bluebell quickly pulls back in the shadows before it can spot her.

“–starving, and we ain’t got all night, so hurry up!” it snaps while looking towards Master Oakenshield and the others with terrifying hunger. Bluebell fights to keep her panic under control.

“Hurry up, hurry up, no appreciation whatsoever,” the cook laments. “I work my arse off to make every meal a work of art, I do, and this is the thanks I get?”

As soon as the first Troll turns to look at the cook again, Bluebell darts forward and resumes cutting the rope.

“All good and well, but dawn's coming and I don't fancy being turned to stone.” The words make her halt with sudden realization. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Trolls turn to stone in sunlight!

Except this fact is utterly useless if they eat her friends before dawn. Bluebell quickly resumes cutting through the rope, is almost finished...

“We've more than enough time, so stop your yammering and let me work.”

She did it! She freed Master Oakenshield!

Now what? Well, obviously she needs to free the others, but who should she free next?

“Give me your blade.” Master’s Oakenshield’s words are barely audible over the threats the others are still yelling. Why does he want her sword, fighting the Trolls without the others is certain suicide– oh, he doesn’t want it to fight, he wants to use it to free the others. That is an excellent idea, they’ll be able to free the other much faster with the two of them.

Bluebell nods her understanding and carefully works the sack loose enough that she can slip her sword inside it. Master Oakenshield tilts his head so that his hair covers the cut rope, and as those gorgeous curls land on her hand, Bluebell is both horrified and completely exasperated with the part of her that wishes to let out a dreamy sigh. That part also urges her to twine her fingers through the strands even softer than she imagined they would be.

Bluebell snatches her hand back before she can do something as insane as give in to the urge. Then Master Oakenshield gives her a piercing look, the unending blue of his eyes so near it scatters her every thought. Which isn’t a bad thing, given the absurd turn they had taken.

That endless blue turns away from her to give Balin a pointed glance, helping Bluebell remember what she is supposed to be doing. Freeing the others. Right.

Bluebell draws her spare sword and sneaks towards Balin. He's the furthest away from the group, and there isn’t any cover she can hide behind she could with Master Oakenshield. She'll need to use Balin himself as cover instead.

Balin’s brows shoot up with surprise when he notices her darting over, before he heaves himself upright. Excellent, that means she can hide behind him immediately.

The fraction of time his action buys her turn out to be an absolute necessity, because one of the Trolls is turning to look at them again, and Bluebell barely manages to hide behind Balin before it can spot her.

“Well maybe if you’d let us eat one, we wouldn’t complain so much!” it snaps and Bluebell fights to keep her panic under control because these Trolls can’t eat her friends, they can’t die here, and she quickly starts cutting the rope holding Balin captive because she needs to free him right now–

“Yeah, we’re hungry!” the third Troll exclaims, and Bluebell works even faster, cuts off some of Balin’s hair in her haste but that doesn’t matter, she just needs to free him before–

“Urgh, _fine_. But no more than one each.”

No, no, no, they can’t do that, can’t eat her friends and why isn’t Master Oakenshield doing something, except he is, is trying to get out of the sack and and she spies a glimpse of naked skin in the tangle of struggling Dwarves, except those struggles are hindering Master Oakenshield and he won't be able to free himself in time and one of the Trolls has grabbed Bombur and is holding him upside down and is about to bite his head off and she needs to stop this–

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” she yells while running forward, and is almost dizzy with relief when the Troll about to bite Bombur’s head off looks down at her instead. So do the other two, and having these three giants gazing down at her is unbelievably terrifying. The sensation is amplified by the ominous silence that has fallen, her appearance having made the Dwarves halt their frantic yelling. Bluebell's gaze flickers towards them, and she spies another glimpse of naked skin before Master Oakenshield twists his body so that it disappears from sight.

“What’s that?” the cook asks, drawing her full attention back to the giants looking her over.

“Is it another Dwarf?” the argumentative one wonders.

“Can we eat it, too?” the one holding Bombur asks.

“You most certainly cannot eat me, that would be terribly rude,” she blurts, words tumbling from her lips without thought because she’s just realized that she's left her spare sword behind, meaning she is completely unarmed, and that succeeds in making everything even more terrifying. “And obviously I’m not a Dwarf, I am a Hobbit.”

“What’s a Hobbit?” the Troll holding Bombur asks with confusion, while the argumentative one scoffs.

“Rude to eat you? What a load of rubbish,” it declares and oh this isn’t good at all, quick, she needs to think of something to distract them with!

The only thing she can think of is how rude these Trolls are being. In that case.

Bluebell lets out her most insulted huff. “Rubbish?” she repeats in a scandalized voice, eyes flickering towards Kili as he suddenly throws himself backwards so he lays half on Master Oakenshield. “Why, where are your manners,” she continues in her most scolding voice, and succeeds in making the Trolls, who’d all turned to look at Kili as well, refocus on her. “This is no way to treat a guest–”

“Just throw it with the others, we’ll roast it too,” the cook rumbles, making her mind blank with pure terror and the Dwarves are yelling again and the Troll gains a hungry leer and a giant hand is reaching for her–

“Wait, wait, wait!” she yells and thanks every Valar there is when the Troll hesitates. “I came here for a reason, a very important one!”

“What reason?” the Troll who wants to _eat_ her demands with suspicion.

Yes, what reason? What will distract it from wanting to eat her?

She has no idea. But she does know that her best bet is to continue talking.

Bluebell can do that.

“I came here to tell you something very, very important,” she babbles while glancing at Master Oakenshield, before she takes a few quick steps to the side. Kili must've thrown himself like that so Master Oakenshield can free him without the Trolls noticing, and forcing the Trolls to turn their heads to follow her movements can only help with this. Now they can no longer see Master Oakenshield and the others even from their peripheral vision. “Incredibly important, in fact, the most important thing one can possibly be told,” she continues to babble, barely aware of the words escaping her because she just realized that the sky is noticeably lighter than before, meaning the sun is not far off and if she can just buy them enough time... “–indeed, there is not a more important thing in the world–”

“What is it?” the argumentative Troll demands and oh dear, it looks even more suspicious than before. Quick, focus and think of something to say!

Bluebell racks her mind for a plausible lie, a task made even more difficult by Balin rolling over the ground until he is behind Oin, why would he– no, don’t be distracted, stay focused.

“I came to tell you that...” Think! “That these Dwarves are... infected?”

Bluebell barely manages to suppress a wince. That is without a doubt one of the worst lies she has ever told, and that is truly saying something.

She thinks that one of the Dwarves might be saying something, but the words are lost beneath the question posed by the Troll still holding up Bombur. “They’re infected? With what?”

Yes, what are they infected with? What would make these Trolls reconsider eating her friends?

“They... have worms. In their tubes.” Oh, that lie is even worse than her last.

Except it works! All three Trolls gain an expression of horror, and the one holding Bombur throws him down with a cry of disgust and she does hope that he didn’t hurt himself, and that he didn’t hurt Kili and Gloin either, too badly at least, given the pained noises they let out when Bombur landed on them, but it worked! Bombur is no longer in danger of having his head bitten off, and the three Trolls are still looking horrified!

“They got parasites!” the Troll who threw Bombur exclaims. Bluebell nods her wholehearted agreement of that wrong conclusion.

“Yes, exactly, parasites, terrible business that, gives you indigestion and cramps and– and they taste horrible as well,” she blurts, before deciding that the wisest course of action would be to round this up with a firm statement. If she doesn’t, she’ll probably say something that will make the Trolls realize that the Dwarves don’t have parasites after all. “They’re just nasty all around, really,"

“Parasites?” Gloin demands in a tone that makes panic overtake all else because she knows that tone, that tone means he is genuinely offended by her words and please don’t let him say– “We don’t have–”

Bluebell feels dizzy with relief when Master Oakenshield interrupts Gloin with a firm kick. That was _much_ too close.

“We’ve got the biggest parasites there are!” Kili yells, and for a moment, Bluebell truly fears that she might pass out from sheer relief as everyone aside from Master Oakenshield starts yelling their own confirmation of this fact.

All except for Balin and Oin. Instead, Oin heaves himself to the side so that Balin can shuffle closer to Ori and oh of course, she left her sword behind, Balin must have freed himself and is now freeing the others as well, the clever Dwarf.

“I don’t believe it, it’s trying to trick us,” the argumentative Troll declares with a glare.

“Of course I’m not trying to trick you,” she denies while her eyes involuntarily dart up at the sky, already so much lighter than before, she just needs to keep buying them time... “How would I even be trying to trick you? What could I possibly have to gain? No, I came to inform you of this fact simply because it is impolite to not let people know when they’re about to ingest parasites, that is the only reason, there is no other, none at all, I am most certainly not trying to–” Bluebell realizes just in time what she is about to reveal and harshly bites down her lip, preventing her treacherous mouth from ruining everything.

“Not attempting to, what?” the Troll who’d wanted to eat Bombur wonders with confusion.

“Yeah, not attempting to, what?” the argumentative Troll demands with suspicion.

“To, ah, to, to– have you considered making a gravy?” she blurts out in desperation.

“A gravy?” the cook asks with sudden interest, thank the Valar, because Bluebell can work with this, she can more than work with this.

“Yes, gravy, you’re making a roast after all, and while I applaud your use of sage, and excellent choice, truly,” The cook is smiling! This is fantastic! “–I fear no good roast is complete without the addition of gravy. Which isn’t hard to make, though I’m certain that a distinguished cook such as yourself already knows how to make one,” But then, who doesn’t know how to make a gravy? Still, every cook loves to be complimented on their skill, as proven by the Troll’s smile growing even bigger. “–but I, ah, I... happen to have a secret recipe!” Several, in fact, though none of them involve gravy. The Trolls don’t know that, though. “Yes, carefully, guarded by Hobbits throughout the generations, and normally I would never even dream of parting with it, but truly, how often does one encounter a situation such as this? By which I mean having Dwarves with parasites of course, because they have those, huge parasitizes, enormous ones, and–”

“It’s lying, it is, they don’t got parasites at all!” the argumentative Troll snaps, but before Bluebell’s panic can regain the upper hand, the cook interferes.

“Quiet. Let the Hobbitsy speak.”

Yes!

“Thank you, good sir, that is most kind of you,” she tells it sincerely, so grateful for it’s love of the culinary arts.

Bluebell will tell it all it wants to know on how to make gravy and then some.

“Yes, yes, now what’s the secret recipe?” it demands, and Bluebell prepares to launch into an extremely detailed and entirely made up recipe–

“And why’s it’s important the Dwarves have parasites?” the argumentative Troll adds before she can do so, making her thoughts screech to a halt.

Why would that be important, indeed?

“That’s a really good question,” the third Troll adds with surprise. The cook lets out a long suffering sigh, but is Bluebell distracted by the naked arm Master Oakenshield pulls out of seemingly nowhere. He is holding her sword and quickly hands it over to Kili– well, she thinks he hands it over. She can’t see Kili’s own arm, but the sword disappears between their bodies, before Master Oakenshield hides his arm from view again as fast as it had appeared.

“Well? Why’s it important?” The cook’s demand makes her refocus on the Trolls. Bluebell can't help but flail her hands around as she tries to gather her wits and come up with an answer. The only things she can currently think of are how to make a gravy and how delicious Master Oakenshield’s arm had looked, both completely unsuitable answers to that question.

“Because...” Think of something else. “Because...” Anything else!

“Tell us or we eat you.”

“Because it lets you eat Dwarves even when they have parasites!” Anything but that.

Bluebell's hands come up to cover her mouth, unable to believe that those words escaped her and desperately wishing she could take them back, and all the Dwarves staring at her with stunned incredulity, of course they are because how could she have been so stupid–

“It does?” the Troll who’d wanted to eat Bombur asks with great interest.

“Eat them even with parasites, you say...” the argumentative one muses and why did she say that, she’d actually managed to get them to reconsider eating her friends, except now she’s ruined it!

“Tell us how to make this gravy,” the cook orders and Bluebell is torn, should she tell them the recipe, or should she try to convince them that they really don’t want to eat the Dwarves instead, except she's awful at lying, always has been, and she just knows that she’ll ruin things even more if she tries to come up with another reason not to eat the Dwarves, she needs to keep stalling for time instead because the sky is getting lighter and lighter, except can the Dwarves over the fire hold out long enough for the sun to reach them, they’re becoming awfully red, but no, surely Master Oakenshield would not let them burn alive, of course he wouldn’t, and he is giving her an intense look because she's been quiet for too long, she needs to keep buying them time–

Bluebell lifts her chin with determination. She might be awful at lying, but she is excellent at talking and cooking both.

If the Trolls wish to be given a recipe for gravy, she will give them one.

“Yes, it does,” she answers the first question posed by the Trolls. “It’s not difficult to make either, you just have to–” Bluebell launches into her made up recipe, gives meticulous descriptions of every ingredient and their ratios, explaining every step in the most minute of details, no piece of information too small. She is certain that she will be able to buy them even more time by forcing the cook to ask her to repeat her instructions.

Except it doesn’t ask her to repeat herself. Instead it listens attentively and waves her off with impatience whenever she herself asks whether she needs to repeat anything.

This isn't good at all. But she can still keep rattling off instructions, and even manages to come up with a great many more on the fly.

This is without a doubt the most complex recipe for gravy in existence.

The cook is the only one who remains interested in what she is saying, but when the other two turn their attention back to the Dwarves, those above the fire thankfully distract them from Master Oakenshield and the others by yelling a multitude of interesting facts, covering a surprisingly wide range of topics. Well, they first resume yelling threats at the Trolls, but just like before, the Trolls ignore those with ease.

What they don't ignore, is Bofur’s explanation on how to recognize wood suitable for making toys. Which makes the others halt their swearing and start offering various creative facts as well, from jewelery making to tailoring. Aside from Dwalin, who continues to threaten the Trolls instead, though at a softer volume than before. And of course she has no idea what Bifur is saying. Though judging from his expression, it isn't anything complimentary.

Any other time, Bluebell would’ve listened with fascination to the things the Dwarves are saying. As it is, she forces herself to ignore them as best she can, focusing on her made up recipe instead.

Well, most of her focus is on that. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop her mind from wandering a little.

She dearly hopes that Master Oakenshield and Balin have managed to free everyone on the ground. She _thinks_ they have, given that they are all moving so that they are no longer laying on top of each other. Slowly and carefully, so as to avoid drawing the attention of the Trolls.

The sky has lightened in a way that means dawn has most certainly arrived, but she now realizes that it will take more time, much more time, before sunlight reaches the camp. The Eastern side is bordered by high rocks, and Bluebell really should’ve realized much sooner that this would prevent the sun from reaching them. She also shouldn’t have assumed that dawn alone wouldn’t be enough to save them, it only makes sense for Trolls to take precautions against being turned to stone. The question is, can she buy them enough time for the sun to reach them even with those rocks in the way?

No, that isn’t the right question. The right question is whether the Dwarves over the fire can hold out until then. She knows that Dwarves are resistant to heat, but that is not the same as being immune, and she has no idea how much longer they can endure the flames.

She will simply have to trust that Master Oakenshield will interfere before it is too late. Which he will of course, she cannot imagine him letting any of them come to true harm if he can prevent it. Which means that, no matter how nerve wrecking it is to see the beards and hair of those over the fire start to blacken at the edges, she has to keep stalling.

Except she is running out of things to say. And truly, this Troll is much too similar to Hobbits, for it _still_ hasn’t asked her to repeat anything. It seems to have truly memorized every single step. Part of her is impressed by that, even Hobbits would have a little trouble with the sheer amount of information she is rattling off, but most of her is growing more and more desperate because she is grasping at straws now, is telling in detail how it must be garnished before it can be used and the exact temperature it must have and...

And she can think of nothing else to add.

Bluebell falls silent, mind completely blank.

Now what?

The Dwarves stop talking as well, and the resulting silence is suffocating in the worst of ways.

The cook nods. “Right, got all that. Thanks, Hobbitsy.” It turns towards the argumentative Troll. “You can eat it now.”

The words cause blind panic to overtake all else because she has no idea what else she can say to stall them and the Troll looks at her with terrifying hunger and it is going to _eat_ her–

“The dawn will take you all!” The words thunder through the camp, making her and everyone else look up at the source. Bluebell feels faint with relief when she does because Gandalf is here, everything will be fine now and they’re saved!

Aren't they?

“What’s that?” the argumentative Troll asks.

“No idea,” the cook replies.

“Can we eat it, too?” the third one wonders.

Gandalf, standing on top of an enormous rock and holding his staff high, lowers the wood to gently tap the boulder beneath his feet.

It splits in two as easily as an egg. Sunlight bursts through the gap, making the Troll cry out in agony, before abruptly falling silent.

It actually takes Bluebell a moment to realize why they’ve stopped screaming.

The Trolls have turned to stone. All three of them.

...They made it?

Bofur whoops with joy, and suddenly all the others are cheering as well, the ones on the ground jumping to their feet, the sacks around them falling down, and Bluebell feels her knees give out, can’t stop her hysterical giggling because they made it, everyone is still alive, and her friends are celebrating with no regard to their nakedness, and the sight is so absurd that it makes her laugh even harder because they made it, all of them did, everyone is still alive!

And Master Oakenshield, the only one who did not jump up, is more beautiful than he ever has been, smiling with a joy she hadn't thought possible, outshining the very sun itself. For once, the sight doesn’t steal her breath, for the simple reason that it's impossible to stop laughing. Bluebell doesn’t mind her manic reaction, not in the slightest, feels like she could burst with pure happiness.

All her friends are still alive!

Despite the awful start, this day has already turned into one of the most wonderful she has ever experienced.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos always brighten my day. Comments even more so :)
> 
> My [tumblr](https://loekas.tumblr.com/)


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